


Choke

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Transferring to university to pursue his fire science degree was supposed to be the next step to the future Dean’s been planning his whole life, but instead he’s faced with the failure of his relationship with Cassie and being forced to return home when his parents lose their house.The Winchesters move to a desolate old farmhouse on a back road; Dean, Cas, and Mary try to make the best of it, but fresh paint and new carpet can’t make a house a home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choke

**Author's Note:**

> This work is for the 2013 round of the Dean/Cas Big Bang; I'd like to thank my artist, crimsonswirls, for the absolutely phenomenal artwork; her art masterpost is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/998160). I also need to heap love on my friends/betas/cheerleaders Dani, Ashley, Madi, Elise, and Wanda. This would never have come to fruition without some serious support.
> 
> The associated soundtrack is on 8tracks at www.8tracks.com/hollyhawke/choke.
> 
>  **Warnings for alcohol use, misogynistic slurs, and verbally abusive John Winchester**.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.

This is a story that starts a long time ago, so I guess I’d better take you back to the beginning.

It starts – really starts – with two kids named John and Mary. John is a pretty straight-laced guy; when they meet, he’s just back from a stint with the Marines and has just taken a job at the local mechanic’s shop. Mary is studying at the local university, working on a teaching degree. They meet by chance, but they stay together by choice, and it’s not long before they fall in love.

They get married young, despite what their parents say, and start saving their money. They live cheaply, on bad takeout and long nights at the shop, but they’re happy. John starts his own business and Mary gets a job teaching kindergarten, and for a few years, they flourish.

And then it gets better. Mary finds out that she’s pregnant, and she and John discover that sometimes good things happen by accident. They’re overjoyed, but they don’t want to raise their children in a tiny apartment, so they start making plans, talking about placement of light fixtures and windows over cups of coffee late at night.

John and Mary build their family a house. It’s a big house, made for a family; the kitchen is the central room. Its bay windows overlook the water and fill the kitchen with light on sunny days. There is a long hallway stretching across the back of the house, from the kids’ bedrooms to their dad’s office so they can run down it to tell him ‘good morning.’ They map their dream out piece by piece and then bring it to life beam by beam.

They name their first born son Dean – great name, if I might say – and he’s a hurricane of a child. A nightmare, to be honest, but he’s the best big brother when the time comes, and for a number of years, the Winchesters are very, very happy.

~

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Dean, don’t talk to me like that,” John snaps through the phone. Dean can picture the disapproving scowl on his face, but he’s too angry to care.

“I’ll talk to you however I want, Dad! You told me you could afford this. You swore it up and down. And now you’re telling me you don’t have it?”

John sighs heavily and is silent at first. “Dean,” he starts, but Dean doesn’t want to hear it.

“Dean –“ John tries again swallowing roughly. “Look, son. We could afford it, when I said that, but... things have changed.”

“Great, Dad,” replies Dean bitterly. “Just great. How am I supposed to make my tuition payment if you can’t afford it, and I drained my savings account last quarter? It’s due next week, Dad!”

“Look, son, I’m sorry, but there’s not really anything I can do about it!” John is frustrated, now, and Dean couldn’t care less.

“Fine, then,” he spits out. “I’ll figure it out for myself. Thanks a lot.” He hangs up the phone with a quick and impulsive jab of the ‘end call’ button.

Shaking and breathing hard, he leans back against the wall, pulling his feet up to rest on the bed in his dorm room. He’s glad his roommate is out –nice guy, but he doesn’t need to hear stuff like this. Dean stares blankly at the opposite wall, decorated in Victor’s Star Wars posters, and thinks disconsolately about how the guy has absolutely no taste if he really prefers that to Trek. It was the point of many friendly debates during their first semester living together.

He needs to calm down, he thinks, raking a hand through his hair and tipping his head back, closing his eyes. Count to ten, and then figure out what you’re going to do about this. It has always worked for him, and this time isn’t an exception.

Emotions carefully tucked away until he has dealt with the problem at hand, he turns his phone over in his hands, considering his next action carefully. His dad won’t like it, but he has an idea.

“Hey Grandpa?” he replies when the ringing on the other line stops. He hasn’t kept in touch with Grandpa Henry as much as he really should since he’d graduated from high school, and he feels guilty about it given what he’s about to ask.

“Hello, Dean,” comes the gravelly voice through his earpiece. Grandpa Henry is a stately guy, for all that he was a mechanic. It's one of the odd juxtapositions that's common in their family, and it's also one of the reasons that he and John don't get along very well, anymore. Some days Dean can hardly even believe that they're related.

“Hey Grandpa, how are you?” Dean greets him, trying to keep his voice casual, but pacing the length of his dorm room anxiously.

“I’m fine,” Henry answers patiently. “What’s on your mind?”

Dean tries to laugh. “What, I can’t call my grandpa just to say hello?” he protests weakly, but Henry just chuckles.

“Son, I can almost hear you fidgeting. What’s going on?”

Dean sighs. He’d wanted to at least have a conversation before he started talking about this. “Grandpa, you know how I’m at school out of state?”

“Yes,” replies Henry. “How is that going?”

“It’s good,” Dean says, his mouth dry. He swallows uncomfortably. “Except, um, my tuition is due next week, and – “

Henry sighs. “And your father doesn’t have the money for it,” he supplies the rest of the sentence. Dean just gapes for a moment.

“How did you know?” he asks incredulously.

“I do talk to your father on occasion,” Henry rebukes him mildly. “To be honest, I was expecting this. The housing market has been...abysmal, and your father builds houses. Needless to say, things haven’t been going well for him.”

“Oh,” Dean says dumbly. “Well,” he continues. “I’d pay it myself but my work study job won’t cover it. And I already drained my savings account, last quarter.”

“You drained your savings account?” Disapproval is sharp in Henry’s tone, and Dean winces on reflex. “You shouldn’t have to do that, Dean.”

“I know,” says Dean, agitated. “I just needed the money. Don’t worry about it, Grandpa. I’ll save up again over the summer, it’ll be fine.”

“I still don’t like it,” Henry argues. He’s silent for a moment. “How much do you need to make up the difference for this quarter?” he asks, and Dean winces again.

Even though Henry can’t see him, he shifts uncomfortably and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Uh,” he starts. “Two thousand, for this quarter,” he admits. “And it’s gonna be worse next quarter, I guess, since my dad or I won’t be able to offset it as much.”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Henry smoothly, without missing a beat. “I’ll take care of it. You just need to let me know how to make the payment.”

“Okay,” says Dean thickly. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

There’s an awkward pause again, before Henry says warmly, “Don’t worry about it, Dean. Your education is important.”

“I’ll pay you back,” offers Dean, and Henry chuckles.

“Okay,” he answers. “Look, Dean, I’ve got to get going. But you take care of yourself.”

“Yessir,” says Dean. “You too, Grandpa.”

Once they’ve hung up, Dean flops down on his bed. He hates asking people for help like this – hates it more than he hates almost anything else. But, he reasons, he needs to finish out the school year here. He’s in sequence classes that won’t translate properly to another school. He’ll be fined an exorbitant amount for breaking his dorm room contract. He’ll pay his grandpa back, just like he’ll pay his student loans back, and it’ll be fine. He still hates it, though, and he resists the urge to lay on his bed and flip open a novel and sulk for a few hours. He has too much homework to do.

He decides to put it off a little. He’s only been back to school for a couple weeks, but he misses his mom, and his little brother – and Cassie. Long distance relationships are the pits, he thinks idly. He knows she’s been busy with editing the school paper, and that she has deadlines coming up, but he flips open his phone to text her anyways.

>>Hey baby, how are you

He hopes she’ll answer. He spins his phone around in his hands, trying not to be impatient. Sometimes she doesn’t answer, if she’s working on something, or in a meeting, or.... busy. He can’t remember when her paper meets but he thinks it might be tomorrow.

His phone buzzes a few minutes later, and he flips it open eagerly

>>fine dean, a little busy. paper stuff is due on fri and i’ve got a lot of work to do

Disappointing. Cassie is a whirlwind of a girl, and he loves her for it – fierce and passionate and driven. But she needs something to do, and when he’s a couple hundred miles away, he isn’t the focus of her attention. Instead, she is focused on her journalism degree and her friends and her school paper.

>>oh, ok. let me know if there’s anything i can do

>>thanks!!! hope you’re having a good week. love you

Dean contemplates not answering her in a fit of dispassion, but he dutifully responds that he loves her, too. He does.

Sighing, Dean turns to his homework, taking advantage of the quiet while Victor is gone to class.

 

 

He hardly even notices when the door opens and Victor marches in and dumps his backpack on the bed. He’s obviously in a mood, and Dean suppresses an irritated sigh. He’s hardly equipped to deal with his own mood today, never mind someone else’s.

“Hey,” Dean greets him absently, running his hand through his hair. His homework is nearly a lost cause anyways. “’S goin’ on?”

“Oh, nothing,” Victor answers gustily. “You know. The usual. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Dean replies nonchalantly, but he knows the minute he says it that Victor doesn’t believe it. He narrows his eyes suspiciously and gives him a look.

“Try again,” he says briskly. “Come on, you can tell me. What’s really going on?”

“Would you believe me if I said nothing again?” Dean stalls for time, now wishing that he could turn back to his homework and hide in it. It’s too late, though. If there’s one thing Victor’s great at, it’s not buying bullshit, and Dean knows that he’s busted.

“Not a chance,” says Victor, grinning. “Come on.”

Dean sighs.

“I had to ask my grandpa for money to pay my tuition,” he says before he can change his mind. “Funny, since my dad said he could afford it. But he can’t.” He can’t quite keep the bitter hurt out of his tone.

Victor whistles. “Sucks, man,” he says. “But you’ve got it figured out?”

“Yeah,” says Dean. “My grandpa is pretty well off, and he only has us two grandkids. He says my education is important.”

“Aw, man, don’t worry about it,” Victor reassures him. “You’re twenty. Don’t get me started on how absurdly expensive school is. It’s ridiculous. You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters noncommittally. Victor senses his discontent, and strides across the room to clap him on the shoulder affectionately.

“Man, I mean it. It isn’t your fault, and I don’t want you moping about things that aren’t your fault. Understood?”

Dean glares at him halfheartedly. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, Mom,” he says sarcastically, and Victor grins at him. Suddenly, Dean misses Sam. This kind of brotherly ribbing with Victor is nice, but it isn’t Sam. He keeps telling himself that this program is worth being so far away, but it’s hard.

Victor seems to sense his change in mood.

“Hey, you got homework tonight?” he asks in a softer tone, and Dean shrugs. “Nothing that can’t wait,” he decides.

“You know what that means.”

“Do I?” asks Dean, rolling his eyes.

“Indiana Jones marathon. Come on.”

Dean groans. “It’s only Tuesday,” he reminds Victor in a tone that borders on whiny, but he gets up to turn on the TV anyways.

 

 

The quarter passes by slowly. Winter has always been Dean’s least favorite time of year, but it’s made even worse by the difficult classes he’s taking. Really, does a firefighter need to take organic chemistry? Dean procrastinates bitterly. It’s hard stuff, and as tactile as he is, he’s having a hard time understanding something so abstract. He’s sitting at his dorm room desk; it’s barely big enough for the textbook and papers he has spread across it. This is a common sight in his and Victor’s dorm room. Victor had made fun of him for being so studious for a while, but the novelty has long since worn off. Dean blames his bad mood on the weather, but he’s not spending time with his friends anymore, just drowning himself in studying. If he were honest, he’d admit that he’s lost interest, but he figures at least he’ll have good grades.

He sighs and lays his head down on his textbook for a moment, fighting the urge to climb back in bed and take a spectacular nap. Instead, he eyes his phone and considers it for a moment before flipping it open. Three thirty. Sammy should be out of school, he thinks, and dials his number.

The phone rings and rings and Sam doesn’t pick up. When he hears the voicemail kicking in – and Sam’s stupid, prepubescent voice from at least three years ago telling him to leave his name and number – he hangs up instead of making a recording. He doesn’t have anything to say.

He tries Cassie, too, but no answer.

He sighs and lays his head back down on his textbook. It’s right about then that the dorm room door swings open, and Victor saunters in, slinging his backpack down to the floor. He stops moving for a moment and Dean just knows he’s looking at him with that raised eyebrow of his, as if to say “what the fuck,” but he doesn’t move.

“Um,” says Victor, taking a tentative step towards Dean and breaking the silence. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” says Dean, sitting up and dragging a hand across his face. He stretches. “You doing anything tonight? I’ve had enough of studying.”

Victor grins at him. “Nah. What did you have in mind?”

Dean shrugs, scooting his chair back and standing up. “I dunno, dude. Too much of this ochem crap is enough to make a guy crazy. Let’s get outta here.”

They go out to their favorite off-campus dive and Dean spends too much money on drinks that aren’t even that good until he’s drunk enough that he knows he’ll regret it tomorrow. Sure enough, he’s hung over the next day and is forced to make the drive home to his parents’ house for the four day President’s weekend with a blinding headache. It’s worth it, he thinks as he finally pulls into his driveway. He’s missed being home.

"Mom? I'm home!" Dean swings open the back door of their house, dragging his small suitcase behind him. Sam made fun of him for picking one with wheels, and his dad rolled his eyes, but it had been the cheapest one, surprisingly, and Dean can’t argue with that kind of logic. The hallway is dark, but he can see lights on in the kitchen. He makes his way carefully down the hall and cranes his head around the corner to look into the kitchen. His mom is there, making something on the stove, and she has music playing, which explains why she didn’t hear him come in. When he calls her name again, she looks up, startled.

"Oh, is it that late already! Dean! I'm glad you're here. How was your drive?" She immediately abandons her cooking project and comes over to hug her older son. "How are you? Are you hungry?"

"Mom!" Dean laughs, hugging her back. "One question at a time. The drive was fine, you know, traffic at all the usual spots but not too bad. I'm pretty hungry. What've you got in the oven?" He asks, eyeing it. The timer reads 2:32, so whatever's inside will be done soon. Mary laughs.

"Pie, of course," she says, smiling. "Guess what kind."

Dean thinks for a moment. "Blueberry," he guesses impulsively.

"Nope!" Mary is grinning now, and the corners of her eyes crinkle a little. Dean scowls at her in mock disgust, and tries again.

"Apple."

"Nope."

"Cherry!"

"Ding ding, we have a winner!" Mary announces, digging in the drawer by the oven to find her hot pads. The timer is about to go off. They're old and charred, and Dean idly thinks that she could use some new ones for her birthday.

The timer goes off, and Mary whisks the steaming pie out of the oven.

"Looks delicious, Mom," he says appreciatively.

"You have to stay out of it for at least a half an hour," she reminds him fondly. "Unless you want to burn your tongue, I suppose. But you should wait."

"Why?" asks Dean, eyeing the pie hungrily. "Oh, when's Dad gonna be home?"

"I think he was working late tonight, dear," replies Mary, stacking a few dishes from her cooking and moving them to the sink. "He should be home soon though. He knows you're here. Oh, and I invited Cassie over, too."

"Really? Great!" Dean grins. "When's she gonna be here? I haven't heard from her much this week."

Mary shrugs. "I'm not sure, but you should text her and let her know that you got here safely."

"All right. I'm gonna take my stuff back to my room and unpack a little, okay? Thanks Mom." He walks over to her and leans down a little to kiss her cheek.

 

 

About a half an hour later, the doorbell rings. John is already home and Sam isn't due back from his forensics tournament until at least nine, so there’s no need to wonder who's at the door. Dean stands up from the couch where he's sitting with his parents, trying not to appear overly eager. "I'll get it," he announces, and takes off for the door before he can see the amused looks on their faces.

Sure enough, it's Cassie, and the minute he opens the door he sweeps her into a tight hug, kissing her hair.

"I missed you," he says, and she laughs, pulling back to kiss him.

"Missed you too," she replies, kissing him again. They kiss a few more times, reluctant to part, before heading back into the kitchen.

"Hi Mr. and Mrs. Winchester," she says, lacing her fingers with Dean's.Mary rolls her eyes. "Cassie, dear, I've told you, you can call us John and Mary if you want."

Cassie laughs. "I dunno," she says, shifting her weight from foot to foot bashfully. "I guess it's still weird to call adults by their first names."

"You're an adult now," says Mary. "Both of you are."

"Whatever, Mom," says Dean, winding an arm around Cassie's waist. "Now that everybody's here but Sam, how about some of that pie?"

Cassie starts to protest, but Dean hushes her. "Sam won't be back for a while and he doesn't like cherry anyways," he argues, and she rolls her eyes and goes to get some plates and forks from the kitchen.

Dean's weekends at home always go too fast. He has dinner with Cassie on Saturday night; they go to their favorite burger joint on the outskirts of town. Cassie gets a milkshake and Dean has to keep his eyes away from her mouth wrapped around the straw. He really has missed her; he hadn't thought that a long distance relationship would be this hard on him.

"So," she says, idly twirling her straw in her fingers. "What're you gonna get? The usual?"

"And a slice of cherry pie," answers Dean enthusiastically. Cassie rolls her eyes.

"Really? You still have your mom's cherry leftover at home." She's disapproving in that amused way of hers and Dean can tell that she doesn't really mind.

"Yeah!" he says. "If I don't tell her that I got pie with my dinner, she'll let me have another slice!"

Cassie laughs. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" she says affectionately. "I think I might try something different tonight. Mix it up."

"Dude, do you even have a usual order?" Dean asks incredulously. "I'm pretty sure you order something different every time we're here."

Cassie shrugs. "Hey, I like some variety," she answers dismissively. "So sue me. The same old thing day after day is boring, you know?"

Dean shakes his head at her as the waitress comes to take their order. Dean smiles at her politely but without any warmth. He'd made the mistake once of thoughtlessly flirting with a waitress in Cassie's presence, and he hadn't made that mistake again.

"So," he begins, drumming his fingers on the table. He's nervous. This is a conversation that he needs to have with Cassie, but saying it out loud gives everything such a sense of finality. "I've been thinking of transferring."

"What?" she exclaims, looking at him disbelievingly. "But I thought you wanted to major in fire science!"

"I do," answers Dean glumly.

"Then why are you transferring?" She looks angry now. "We talked about this when you were picking schools. I know there isn't a single school in Kansas that offers that program. So what, you want to go somewhere else?"

"No, no, well, I mean yes." Dean hurries to clarify. "I want to transfer closer to home."

"And give up the program that you moved for in the first place?" Dean's not sure how to place Cassie's tone - maybe a mix of disgusted and angry and relieved, he thinks. Incredulous, perhaps.

"Yeah," he says, sighing. "Look, we can't actually afford to pay for out of state tuition, so I don't figure that I have too many options."

"Get a job." Cassie argues. "Apply for scholarships. You shouldn't have to give up on your goals because of money!"

Dean sighs again, pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose. He knew this conversation wouldn't go well. Cassie is a firecracker, a real pistol, and she has never accepted anything that she thought she could change. Dean doesn’t expect her to start now, either; she’s an idealist in a way that he just isn’t.

"I know, it sucks," he says, "but I've already got a job and I've applied for every scholarship I could find and I just don't think it's gonna work, Cassie. My grandpa is helping me pay for the rest of the year but I don't think I can stay after that."

"So have your grandpa help you pay for it!" Cassie is fired up now. "If he's willing, isn't it worth it for you to get a degree in something that you care about?"

"Look, Cassie," Dean says, "I just can't rely on someone else like that, you know? I need to pull my own weight here. I can't take out any more loans and I don't have any other way to pay for it and the last thing I want to do is owe my grandpa a pile of money. Trust me, this is better."

"Better my ass," Cassie growls, infuriated. She stands up, pushing her chair back.

"Could you excuse me for a moment?" She feigns politeness.

"Sure," Dean answers her. When she steps out of the restaurant, he knows she probably won't be coming back so he asks for the burgers to go and takes them home to Sam.  
Their parents are out when Dean gets home. He vaguely remembers something about a wine tasting - in February? - that they were going to, or something. They weren't going to stay home on Dean's account when he was going out, too, and Sam was going to study for the AP tests, or so he said. Those tests aren't until May, Dean tells himself by way of excuse as he knocks on Sam's door, bag of take out in hand.

"Sammy?" he asks softly, resisting the urge to knock again. He can hear shuffling about within the room, and after a few seconds the door swings open and reveals Sam, who is scowling at him.

"Didn't I tell you that I was gonna study tonight, Dean?" he says, and Dean identifies Bitch Face Number Ten. Dean shrugs apologetically. "Oh, and it's Sam," Sam says. Although he's mad, he steps away and leaves the door open as an invitation for Dean to come in. Dean takes it, looking curiously around Sam's room. Sam was always the tidy one of the two of them, so his room hasn't changed too much since the last time Dean was in it. A new poster from some concert he went to with his friends from school, a few new photos on the bulletin board. But for the most part, it’s familiar Sam.

"AP tests aren't til May, Sammy," offers Dean by way of explanation. "It's pretty ridiculous for you to be studying this early. I thought you could use a distraction."

Sam shoots him an appraising look. "I thought you were going out with Cassie tonight."

Dean purses his lips and doesn't answer.

"Okay, so you were going out with Cassie tonight," concludes Sam. He sits at his desk chair backwards, resting his arms on the headrest. "So what happened?"

"Aw, c'mon, Sam, just take your burger," says Dean, shoving the bag at him. Sam digs through it.

"Bacon cheeseburger..." he wrinkles his nose. "Must be yours." He holds up the other one, astounded. "What the hell is this? Avocado jalapeno?"

"Okay, yeah, I was going out with Cassie tonight," Dean admits, sighing. "She always orders weird shit."

Sam unwraps it and takes a bite. "It's good!" he exclaims, eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. "Wow, Dean, she's got good taste."

"Crazy, both of you," Dean mutters. They eat in companionable silence for a few moments, before Sam swallows what's in his mouth and starts prying again.

"Okay, Dean, tell me. What happened with Cassie."

"We had a fight, obviously," says Dean around a mouthful of hamburger. Sam makes a face at him, but doesn't comment on Dean’s ever-poor manners.

"About what?" Instead, he keeps pushing. Dean ignores him for a moment in favor of eating his burger. Sam wads up his wrapper and chucks it at Dean's head.

"Fine. Fine!" says Dean, huffing. "Fine. I told her that I'm thinking about transferring to a different school, and she went and got all righteous on me."

"Wait, why do you want to transfer?" Sam asks, dumbfounded. "I thought you liked it there. I thought you couldn't get that program anywhere else."

"All true, Sammy," says Dean. "What I also can't do is afford it. Not too much choice in the matter, little bro."

Sam sighs contemplatively. "And that's what she got all fired up about, right?" he asks. "Your defeatist attitude. Am I right?"

Dean sighs right back at him. "Yes, Sam, although I would call it realist, not defeatist. Are we done?" He hates it when Sam agrees with Cassie, but he often does. Sam is unfortunately smart for his age sometimes. He's a bright kid, and capable. Dean's proud to have him as a little brother, not that he'd ever admit it.

"Yeah, all right, we're done," agrees Sam. "Just so long as you promise me you'll call her before you go to bed tonight."

"Sam! I don't need your advice on my love life!" Dean counters hotly, and Sam snorts.

"Clearly, you do. Now scram, I have a lot of homework to do."

Dean spends the rest of the night holed up in his room unhappily, playing with his phone. This is his least favorite thing about fighting. Now someone has to take the first step and apologize and he knows that if he doesn't want to leave with things on bad terms, it's probably gonna have to be him. Cassie is stubborn like that. In some ways, they're too alike, he thinks.

He hears his parents come in downstairs. It's getting late, and from the way his mother is laughing, he'd guess that they'd gotten just a little bit tipsy. Good for them, he thinks. Mary hasn’t said anything, but Dean knows she’s been stressed out.

Decisively, he flips open his phone and dials Cassie's number, hitting call before he can regret it.

She picks up after just a couple rings, which almost surprises him.

"Hey," he says softly. "Um... I just wanted to -"

She sighs. "Look, Dean, I'm sorry about that, okay? I just want the best for you. You know that, right?"

Dean is taken aback by her interruption. He's not used to her being the one to apologize first; he knows she hates to be wrong and hates admitting it even more. Just that tells him that she means it. He swallows hard.

"Yeah," he answers. "I just... Cassie, things are weird in my family and I think this is the right thing to do."

She's silent for a moment.

"Okay," she says finally. "As long as you think it's the right thing to do, then I guess I don't have any right to be mad about it. What'll you study, though?"

"I dunno," says Dean casually. "I'll figure it out."

Cassie snorts. "You always do, don't you?"

"That's me, princess. Now, what do you say we not spend the rest of my visit fighting, okay?"

Dean can hear her smiling on the other end of the line. "Okay," she says.

"I'll pick you up at your place in ten minutes."

 

 

Despite her protests, she sneaks out readily enough, giggling that she even has to sneak out. She lives in an apartment in town with a couple roommates, but her parents are pretty conservative and she likes to do things on the sly, anyways. It's fun to sneak out, she declares as she slides into the front seat of the Impala and Dean can't argue with that.  
They go to the park, just on a whim of Cassie's. It's quiet and deserted at this time of night, and they sit on the swing sets. Cassie drags her toes in the grass, and Dean can tell she's thinking hard. She turns to look at him.

"So, where do you think you want to go to school?" she asks. "Close, I hope?"

Dean shrugs. "Probably. I haven't thought too much about it. I just want to get the applications in. You know, so I have some options."

Cassie nods thoughtfully. "Good plan."

They sit in a companionable silence for a few minutes. That's one thing Dean likes a lot about Cassie; while she isn't quiet and shy, she also doesn't feel the need to fill every moment with chatter. Sometimes they just sit in silence, and that's okay.

Cassie reaches over and pulls his swing towards her, grinning. She clearly has an agenda, so he sits back and lets her climb onto his lab, straddling him and facing him. She cups his face in her hands and kisses him. They don't need any words.

They kiss until a cop comes by and yells at them to go home, because it's three in the morning and don't their parents know where they are? Laughing, they scramble into the Impala and drive off. When they pull up to her house, he kisses her fingers, and the whole thing is totally worth being exhausted the next day.

Weekends at home are always too short, and Dean resignedly heads home on Sunday night. It's a long drive to be making this late, and he'll probably regret it in the morning, but he always finds it hard to leave. His mom sent him on his way with leftover pie and some snacks for his dorm room, as well as some cookies to share with Victor. Those will tide him over for a while.

 

 

He gets back late and Victor is already asleep, so he leaves the tupperware of cookies sitting on his desk, puts the pie in the fridge under his bed, and goes to sleep without turning on the lights.

Sure enough, his eight am class is excruciating, but once he's dragged himself back to the dorms, he gets a coffee and gets down to business.

He spends a couple hours exploring school websites - he checks out every school in Kansas, rules out a few, and downloads transfer applications for the rest.  
He's working on the applications, concentrating with headphones in, when Victor gets back from class. Victor yanks a headphone out of his ear to thank him excitedly for the cookies.

"Your mom is the best, bro," he says, stuffing one in his mouth. Dean rolls his eyes.

"You just like me for the cookies, don't you," he replies dryly, and Victor shrugs.

"Hey, I knew I kept you around for a reason," he teases, and Dean affectionately punches his arm.

"What're you working on?" Victor asks, leaning over his laptop curiously. He's obviously spotted the applications, and is frowning at Dean, the teasing air gone.

Dean sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He'd wanted to have this conversation on his own terms.

"Uh, about that," he says, swallowing. "I've been meaning to tell you. Uh. I talked with my parents this weekend and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to transfer to an in school state."

Victor is silent for a moment, before he shrugs.

"Hey, I'll miss you," he says, with a hint of fondness in his tone, "But you've gotta do what you've gotta do. I get that."

"Thanks, man," says Dean. He's fairly relieved. He knew the conversations with the rest of his friends wouldn't be this easy - none of them knew about his financial problems, and he wasn't keen on telling them - but he was grateful that this was going smoothly.

"You'll keep in touch, right?" Victor asks sternly. "I expect to see your dumb ass around here every once in a while."

Dean laughs. "Okay," he agrees. "I think I can manage that."

Dean works on the applications over the next few days and submits them in a timely fashion. They aren't due yet for a while, but he figures the earlier he gets them in, the earlier he'll know. And it’s definitely better not to put them all off until spring break - he and Cassie have the same week off, and he has every intention of spending it tangled up with her.

He gets through it a week at a time. It's easy, really - go to class, do your homework, call Mom, try to get ahold of Cassie. He Skypes Sam every so often, but the kid is busy and he's worrying about his own college plans, so Dean doesn't mind too much when he doesn't have time to talk.

He's been looking forward to Cassie visiting since Christmas break, when they'd made the plans. Cassie hasn’t been out to his school yet, and he wants to take her out to the calzone place downtown, get ice cream at the local spot, and walk around window shopping. He likes this sleepy little college town and he wants to share it with her. That, and Victor has promised to bugger off to a friend's house for the weekend so they can have the dorm room to themselves. It's promising to be a great weekend, Dean thinks on Monday morning as he's sitting in his chemistry class, twiddling his thumbs. He thinks it on Tuesday in his literature class, and he can't get it out of his head for the rest of the week. It goes by painfully slow with him counting the moments.

On Wednesday, he has lab and he's in class all day. It's one of the worst days of the week, and he always dreads it. He hardly even has time to look at his phone. When he leaves his organic chemistry lab, sporting goggle lines on his face and a raging headache from the chemicals they'd been working with, he notices a voicemail on his phone. It's from Cassie.  
Dean has a sinking feeling in his gut. Something important must be going on if Cassie left him a voicemail, and he knows that it's nothing he's going to like. He waits until he's back to his dorm room- Victor mercifully absent, probably off to dinner with his criminal justice major buddies - and flips open his phone to listen to the voicemail.

 _Hey Dean,_ it starts innocuously enough, but it gets worse from there.

_I know we had plans for this weekend and I'm really sorry but some stuff came up and I can't come down this weekend anymore. I have a really big deadline coming up and there's a school event that I have to cover and I have a paper due and - well, it's just not going to work out. Sorry._

That's all she has to say. The nasty feeling in Dean's gut has left him so disappointed he's nauseous, and he sits down on the bed and stares at his phone for a few minutes. He knows he should call her back but he can feel a fight brewing and he just wishes that she'd never left him that stupid voicemail.

Eventually he does dial her number though. It rings and rings and he sits and listens to it until it goes to her voicemail, even though he's given up hope that she's going to answer the phone.

Despite calling her several more times, Dean doesn't hear from Cassie for three days. It's a miserable three days - he now has nothing to look forward to this weekend, and he mopes. Victor shoots him sympathetic looks and offers him his own cookies, but nothing really helps. He wishes she'd just call him back - she can't be that busy, can she? - but wishing and hoping never seem to do him any good, anyways.

Finally, on Saturday morning, when he calls her for a fifth time, she picks up. Dean's almost shocked that she does, with her record of missing his calls, but he gets over his surprise quickly.

"Hi," he says hurriedly. "Um. Good morning."

"Morning, Dean." Her voice is unnaturally stiff. Dean didn't expect any different from her - she's been ignoring the problem for days and she still doesn't want to deal with it. He's sure she has something more important to be doing.

"So," says Dean uncomfortably. "I was just, uh, returning your call from the other night."

He can practically hear her wince from the other end of the phone, picture the pinched expression she's making as she glances upwards and to the right and tries to figure out what she's going to say next.

"Right," she answers him. "Sorry about that. Stuff just came up and.... well. You know how that goes."

"We made those plans three months ago," Dean reminds her, trying not to sound too accusatory. He doesn't want to start a fight but he'd been looking forward to this for weeks and all of a sudden it was just gone, with a voicemail in his inbox and silence on the other end of the phone for three days.

"Sorry," she says again, and Dean sincerely doubts she means it.

"Look, Cassie, I'm just frustrated," he admits tiredly. "I've been looking forward to this weekend for weeks."

"What do you want me to say?" Cassie snaps angrily. "Sometimes things don't work out. That's just part of life, Dean."

"Sure, hide behind that as your excuse." Dean doesn't even have the energy to sound mad at her. He's just very tired and he wants this conversation to be over. "You're the one who called me when you knew I wouldn't answer the phone, left me a voicemail, and then didn't pick up for three days."

"I was busy!" exclaims Cassie. "Geez, I'm sorry I can't be glued to my phone twenty-four seven!"

"I wasn't asking for twenty-four seven, Cassie. I was asking for ten minutes."

There is a long silence on the other end of the line and Dean is both simultaneously dreading what she'll say and finding that he doesn't much care at all.

"You know," says Cassie slowly. "I'm not sure this is gonna work out. You're expecting more than I can give you."

"I'm expecting the bare minimum," argues Dean halfheartedly. There's a silence again.

"You know what?" he finally says. "Fine. Whatever."

"See you later then," says Cassie, and Dean hangs up the phone.

He lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling for a while, knowing that he has homework to do today and Victor will be back from his morning rugby practice soon and he really should get up but he just doesn't care. Instead, he takes a nap.

When Victor comes back, he can tell something is wrong, but Dean just shrugs him off. Instead, forced by someone else’s presence to act like he’s doing fine, he drowns himself in his organic chemistry homework until he can’t think about anything but the hydration of alkenes. He ignores his mom’s call and even Sammy’s – he’ll tell them, later, that he was studying for an exam that he has coming up. He’ll call them back and apologize.

On Sunday he wakes up and puts his hurt feelings away and goes about his day like normal. He gets up early and does laundry, eats lunch at his favorite spot in the dining hall, reads some Hemingway. In the evening he finally calls his mom and admits that he and Cassie broke up – no way to hide it from her, really – but he lies and says that it was a pretty amicable split. He says the long distance thing just wasn’t working out for them.

It’s not entirely a lie.

 

 

“So you guys broke up,” says Charlie, sipping on her coffee. Dean thinks it’s too early to be alive, but he hasn’t seen Charlie in ages and he couldn’t say no to meeting her. If he were telling the truth, he’d admit that he’s been avoiding her. It’s become a habit of his, lately – avoiding people, that is. Charlie shines so brightly that sometimes it’s too much for him to handle.

“Yeah.” Dean shrugs. “Not a whole lot more to say about it. It hasn’t been going great since I moved here.”

“It’s okay to be sad about it, you know,” Charlie comments. “I know how you can be, Dean, don’t think I don’t. You guys dated for a long time. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”  
“Who said I was beating myself up about anything?”

Charlie laughs. “Dean, it’s all over your face. I know this stuff, dude.”

Dean sulks for a moment and drinks his coffee instead of answering her. He never used to drink coffee, but since he’d started at university it had become a habit.

Charlie senses his reluctance to answer and leans back in her seat, crossing her legs. “We don’t have to talk about it. But if you do want to, I mean, you know you can talk to me, right?”

Dean swallows his coffee. “Yeah,” he says, surprising himself with how grateful he suddenly feels. “Yeah, I do, Charlie. Thanks.”

She smiles brightly at him and makes to stand up. “Don’t mention it. Hey, what do you say we take this coffee on the go? We’ve got a LARP club meeting tomorrow and I had some ideas I wanted to ask you about. You know, since you’re the expert on weaponry and stuff, here.” She winks at him playfully, and he can’t help but smile back at her.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, standing up and pushing his chair in. “What time is the meeting? I’d like to come, actually. I know I haven’t been in ages... I’ve been, well, busy.”

“Hey, no worries, Dean,” says Charlie, thumping his shoulder affectionately. “We’re always happy to have you. The meeting is at six, in the chemistry building. Room 120 or something like that. Weird, I know, but everything else was booked.”

“Sounds great. I’ll be there. Now, tell me about your ideas.” They leave the campus coffee shop and make their way down the sidewalk, Charlie chatting animatedly about how she thinks the Queen needs a new dress to celebrate the Spring Equinox.

The LARPing club carries Dean through the rest of winter quarter. It’s something for him to be busy with, something he enjoys; and he does really enjoy hanging out with Charlie and her cohorts. They’re fun, creative people. He helps Charlie set up a sewing machine in her dorm room and patiently figures out how to thread the thing.

It’s the weekend before finals week when she finally finishes her dress. Dean is sitting in her dorm room at three in the morning, idly flipping the pages of his textbook, when the whirring of the sewing machine stops and Charlie shouts jubilantly. Dean raises an eyebrow and doesn’t make a move to stand up; he considers hushing her, but with the proportion of drunk people out and about anyways, he figures it isn’t worth the effort.

“It’s done!” She stands up and actually bounces in place. Her enthusiasm is infectious; Dean slides off of the bed and she grabs his hands and spins him around, laughing.

“Oh, my God, it’s done,” she says breathily, choking down a giggle.

“Can I see it?” Dean asks pointedly.

“Oh!” Charlie exclaims. “Oh, of course. Ah, just let me –“ she fumbles with the sewing machine, carefully extricating what is, at the moment, just a mass of fabric, before holding it up proudly. “Ta da!” she says. “Like it?”

“Love it,” says Dean, whistling appreciatively. He’s seen the work in progress all along, but the finished thing really gives a different impression. The dress is dark green, a full length ball gown complete with sleeves and fancy trim. Dean is actually pretty impressed; for all of Charlie’s mechanical problems with the sewing machine, she actually does know how to use one, and pretty damn well, too.

“Go on then, put it on.”

“Leave the room,” Charlie counters, glaring at him. Dean can tell it’s mostly for show, so he troops out into the hallway without complaint.

Chuckling to himself, Dean stands there for a few minutes until Charlie sticks her head back out the door to let him know that he can come in again.

Dean whistles again when he sees the dress on her. It needs a few adjustments through the torso, but it’s the right length, and overall it fits pretty well.

“I really like the color with your hair,” he comments. “It looks great, Charlie. Come on. Twirl.”

She does, giggling, but the dress is too heavy to twirl properly and she ends up losing her balance and staggering into the bed. They laugh too hard at that, and when they finally catch their breath Charlie rests her hands on her knees.

“It’s too late for this,” she says.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s more fun than studying though.”

“You’ve got that right. Oh God, don’t remind me. I have that math final at eight o’clock on Monday morning.”

“Let’s just not talk about it,” Dean decides. “But really, it’s late, and I should probably get going.”

“Definitely.” Charlie is yawning now that the excitement from finishing her project has worn off, and Dean hasn’t failed to notice.

“Good night,” Dean says, hefting his backpack and pulling Charlie into a brief but tight hug. “I’ll probably see you tomorrow, right? And if not, good luck on your math test.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie grumbles. “I’ll need it. Ugh. Good night, Dean.”

As Dean trudges back to his own dorm room across the dark campus, he thinks it’s the most fun he’s had in a long time.

 

 

Dean survives finals week, although he'd argue that it’s a close thing. Next thing he knows, he’s on the open road, headed for home. He's been looking forward to it for weeks. There’s something heady about being alone with the road and the radio. Ever since his breakup with Cassie, he's been missing home. He's been missing the people back home, to be more precise. A home baked pie will do him wonders, and sleeping as late as he wants for a week won’t hurt, either.

It’s too long coming when he finally pulls into his driveway and hugs Sam and his mom and shakes hands with his dad. Over dinner, they catch up.

"So how were your finals?" asks Mary, passing the butter to Sam, who has gone back for his third roll.

"Good, I guess," says Dean. "I think I got pretty good grades. Won't know till next week, though." He reaches for another roll himself, shooting a falsely irate glare at Sam, who makes a face back. They stop when their mother gives them a face of her own.

"What are you taking next quarter, honey?" she asks sweetly, ignoring the nonverbal exchange. Dean swallows a large bite of his roll before he can answer.

"More o-chem," he answers, pulling another face. "And... math. Calculus. And an English class, for the general ed requirements."

"Sounds like quite the class load," she comments, looking concerned.

"I can do it," Dean assures her. "It's only three classes."

"Good," she says, seemingly satisfied by his answer. "How are your friends? Victor and Charlie, right?"

"They're great," answers Dean. "Maybe I'll get them out to visit over the summer."

"That'd be lovely, dear," says Mary, but she’s become distracted. Dean doesn’t think too much of it until later.

 

 

It's late when Mary knocks on Dean's door. He's surprised - he'd thought that she had already gone to bed. She has to be up in the morning to work, and it's unusual for her to be up this late. Even Sam is already in bed. Dean can practically hear him snoring from the next room, and it's something he didn't think he'd miss as much as he did.

"Dean?" she says softly. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," answers Dean, turning in his desk chair to look at her. "What's up, Mom?"

Mary sighs and purses her lips and frowns before taking a deep breath. "There's something your father and I need to tell you, Dean. It's... it's not good."

"Okay," answers Dean, throat tight. "What's going on?"

"You know how the housing market has been bad, of course," she opens, and Dean gets a sinking feeling in his gut. Money. One of the things he can't brandish a fist at and make it go away.

"Yeah," he responds.

Mary sighs again. "Your father's business has taken a hard hit, and it's had an impact on our family's financials."

"Okay." Dean is waiting for her to get to the point, to drop the bomb that he knows is coming. She doesn't disappoint him.

"Dean, we're..." she chokes back a small sob, pressing a hand to her mouth. He's never seen her do this before, and it scares him. "Dean, we're losing our house."

"Isn't there anything we can do about it?" exclaims Dean, sitting upright and clenching his fists. He's reeling; they've lived in this house since before he was born and the thought of leaving it is almost unfathomable. "Aren't we going to fight this?"

"We already are," says Mary. "Your father has been fighting this for years, Dean. And I don't think he can anymore."

"And that's it? That's the end of it? Some bank is going to take our house and there's nothing we can do about it?"

"I'm sorry, Dean." Mary can't meet his eyes. "It's... I don't know all of the details. But I don't think we can get out of this one."

"There has to be something we can do," Dean mutters, because it keeps away the fear. "We'll figure something out, Mom."

Mary smiles indulgently, blinking back tears. She knows they won't.

They haven't told Sam yet. Mary tearfully explains that she just doesn't know how yet, and she wanted to wait until they were both here. She goes to work the next day, and so does John, and Sam goes to school. Dean is left to pace the house like a restless lion. He doesn't sleep in like he had hoped he would. He briefly considers calling Jo or Benny to see if they're in town, but he discards the idea. Seeing his friends doesn't sound appealing today.

So instead he paces the house and thinks about what a house it is. He's lived there for as long as he can remember - for as long as he's been alive, really - and he's never thought much about the house. He's taken it for granted, he supposes, as he wanders down the long hallway that leads from the boys' bedrooms to their father's home office. In the mornings on the weekends, when they were little, they would wake up and run down the hallway to see their daddy. It was a fond memory - one of many that had been made in this house.

There are a lot of things Dean loves about the house that he never thought about. How he could stand in his kitchen and see the sun set over the water - or the moon, if he was up late enough. The way the butterfly bush outside his window gets hummingbirds in the early summer. He secretly even likes the deer that eat his mother's roses. He likes the sturdy hardwood of the kitchen - designed to last against the wear of kids and pets - and the big windows in the living room, and how his room is in the coolest corner of the house. He used to jump out of the bathroom window when he wanted to leave the house without being seen - he remembers the shocking pain in his ankles, because it was too high to jump comfortably but not far enough to hurt himself.

He doesn't know what he's going to say to Sam, and no matter how long or hard he thinks about it, he doesn't come up with an easy way to say it.

Sam doesn't take it well. Dean knew he wouldn't, but it doesn't make things any easier. Instead of railing about the things they could be doing, unlike Dean, he disappears to his room and doesn't come out for dinner, no matter how much Dean cajoles him. He won't open the door, either. It makes Dean crazy, but he knows better than to force his presence on his little brother.

He and his mother sit in the kitchen, drinking hot cocoa like they used to do when he was little. They don't talk for a long time, but finally Dean breaks the silence.

"So," he asks, injecting all of the casualness he can into his voice. "What are we gonna do?"

Mary blinks at him, a little bemused by the suddenness of his question. "What do you mean, what are we gonna do?"

"I mean," Dean clarifies, gesturing with his hands. "Where are we gonna move to, if we can't live here? When is the house.... when do we have to leave by? How much longer?"

Mary stiffens and sighs. After a moment, she answers him.

"We have to be out in June," she says. "As for where we're moving to.... I don't really know yet, but your dad has been talking to Bobby. One of Bobby's friends has a house that Bobby says we might be able to rent, at a pretty reasonable price. It's not far from here. Right now, that's our best option."

"Okay," says Dean, mind whirring. "Where is this house? Can we go see it?"

"I'll ask Bobby about it in the morning," Mary says. "I'm sure we can go see it if we're prospective renters. Maybe later this week, before you go back to school."

"Okay," says Dean. "Sounds good. I guess."

Mary laughs, a little bitterly. "Nothing really sounds good about this," she mutters wryly. "Oh well!"

"It'll be fine, Mom." Dean surprises himself by standing up and putting a hand on her shoulder. "We'll figure something out."

Smiling gratefully, Mary stands too. "I have to get to bed," she murmurs, wrapping one arm around Dean's waist and standing on her tiptoes to drop a kiss on his cheek. "Work tomorrow, you know. Good night, Dean."

"Good night, Mom," he answers absentmindedly, watching her ascend the stairs to her bedroom. He knows he'll be up for quite a while longer. He wishes he had the information on the house; he's itching to look it up, find out where it is, what it looks like. He's restless. Instead of pacing around the kitchen and looking idly in the fridge, Dean heads up to his own room and tries to find something to do. Writing or cleaning his room or doodling fail to hold his attention, so he finally settles on reading. He reads one of his favorite childhood books until he falls asleep, curled comfortably in bed with the book splayed open on his face. It's something he hasn't done in years - since he can remember, really. He wakes up in the morning with an unusual sense of satisfaction and stays in bed reading until he has finished the book.

 

 

When he and Mary pull up into the driveway of the shoddy old farmhouse, Dean makes a face. He is less than impressed. The place must have been pretty, once – it’s a rambling farmhouse with a huge front porch, nestled into a myriad of bushes and trees that Dean doesn’t recognize. They’re just starting to flower, and it’s obvious that at some point, someone had put a lot of time and effort into landscaping. There’s even an apple orchard out back, sprawling in between old, abandoned outbuildings. However, things have changed since then; the outside paint - he can't quite tell what color it is, but he suspects a pale sage green - is peeling and faded. The porch seems to be in disrepair, and the windows are filthy. This only speaks to what the condition of the interior must be like, and Dean already dislikes the house. He hasn't even set foot in it yet. Instead of commenting, he toys with the paint chips he has in his hand and is suddenly glad he brought them. It looks like he'll need them.

Mary is swallowing visibly in the front seat of the car, steeling herself. She looks faintly sick, although Dean knows she’d never admit it. Dean steels himself internally, and decisively unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car.

"Come on," he says to his mother, encouraging her. "It looks like Rufus is already here, so let's go check it out."

He doesn't voice his sinking feeling of doubt at the sight of the house, but instead leads the way to the porch, where, sure enough, an older man with a hard face greets them.

"You the Winchesters?" he asks gruffly, chewing on something that Dean can't identify. Despite his roughness, Dean can't help but immediately like him. He tries to shove it down, remembering that he resents this man and his broken down old house. It clings to him, though, and he smiles a little wider than he'd intended.

"Yes," he answers, stepping forward and holding out his hand. "I'm Dean, and this is my mom, Mary."

The man inspects his hand for a minute, then takes it almost grudgingly and shakes it. Dean thinks his fingers might be broken. "'M Rufus," says the man. "If you wanna see the place, come on in then."

Mary and Dean follow Rufus into the house. He moves ahead of them and turns on the lights - the house needs them. They’re in the kitchen, and the natural lighting is poor. There's a small window over the sink, and one in the large, empty space that is meant for a kitchen table, but they aren't enough. Dean immediately misses his mother's bright, airy kitchen and pushes that thought away carefully. This kitchen isn’t such a bad kitchen, he thinks, as he tries to find something to like about it.

In actuality, it’s a mess. The wallpaper is too horrendous to even describe - an awful, garish floral pattern - and peeling, to boot. _That'll give me an excuse to get rid of it, at least,_ thinks Dean, eyeing it shrewdly and picking through his knowledge of wallpaper removal. That much is non-negotiable.

Mary doesn't comment, but the look on her face isn't heartening. Rufus shows them through to the living room and dining room, which are mercifully not covered in the floral wallpaper. The downstairs bathrooms, on the other hand, are the biggest mess of interior design that Dean has ever seen. In one, there is a bathtub - but no shower - tiled in lavender. Dean puts that on his mental list of things that need to go.

It's a long list by the time they get upstairs. Dean adds the carpet that's in the bedrooms - green and yellow just aren't meant to go together, and who knew what those stains were. He does eye the wooden floors appreciatively, and the big windows in the recently remodeled upstairs bathroom.

"How old is the house?" Mary finally asks timidly. Dean isn't used to his mother being timid, and it shakes him up a little.

"'Bout a hundred years," Rufus answers. "I'd have to look it up. Whaddaya think?"

"It needs some work," answers Dean, surprising himself again. "You know, some fresh paint."

Rufus laughs. "You're blunt, boy," he remarks, smiling. "I like you. I have a list of things to work on, and painting is on it."

"Okay," says Dean. He's still clutching the paint chips in his hand, and feeling a little silly. He's sure Rufus has noticed.

"We'll have to think about it," says Mary. "I need to talk to my husband. But I like the location, and the size. What's the rent like?"

"Eight-fifty a month, including utilities," answers Rufus. "Not a bad deal this close to the city. And any improvements you make come out of the rent."

"No, that's pretty good," agrees Mary, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "I'll give you a call, maybe bring the rest of my family out to see it."

"Sounds good," Rufus drawls. "If that'll be all, I've been meaning to repair that back porch and thinkin' today's a good day to start."

"Of course," says Mary. "Thanks for your time."

They drive back to the house in silence. John is still at work and Sam is at his after school chess club, so they have the house to themselves.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Mary ventures, trying to sound positive. Dean snorts.

“It’s awful,” he says. “But it’s all fixable stuff. I mean, we can tear down wallpaper and paint and I’m sure we can talk him into putting down new carpet because it’s probably been at least ten years since the last time he did it.”

“The rent is reasonable,” says Mary finally. “The location is great for your dad’s work and my work and Sam going to school. And the house is the right size. I mean... we don’t need five bedrooms, but it’s a lot smaller than our house...”

“Yeah, no,” says Dean hastily. “It totally makes sense. It’s a good house. It just needs... well, it just needs some work. A lot of work.”

“Yeah,” says Mary, staring off wistfully. “It is a nice old house though, isn’t it? It was pretty, once.”

“Before someone put in that awful carpet,” jokes Dean, and they laugh for a moment.

Later that night, when John and Sam are home, Mary brings it up.

“So,” she says, fiddling with the end of her hair, “Today Dean and I went and looked at that house that you were telling us about.”

“And?” he asks, laying down the evening paper to give her his attention. “What did you think?”

“It’s....well,” Mary stumbles over how to describe the house. “It’s a fixer upper, I guess. But the location and the price are right. He’s only asking eight-fifty a month and all of the improvements that we make will come out of our rent.”

John shrugs and goes back to his paper. “All right,” he says noncommittally, “But I don’t know how much time we’ll have to fix the place up. As long as it’s not going to burn down.”

Mary opens her mouth to argue and closes it again. Instead, she pulls the pie out of the fridge. Things are strained enough without a fight in front of Sam, who hasn’t commented on the house at all. They eat their pie in silence and leave as soon as they’re done; Mary retreats to her office to grade her students’ quizzes, John pours himself a glass of vodka, and Sam disappears to his room.

Dean follows him. He hesitates outside of the closed door, feeling like he doesn’t know his brother as well as he once did, but he knocks.

“Yeah?” comes Sam’s voice, muffled through the door. Dean recognizes the disgruntled tone of his voice, though, and winces, pulling a hand through his hair. He has a feeling this isn’t going to go well.

“Hey, Sammy,” he starts, “It’s Dean.”

“There isn’t a Sammy here,” Sam responds sullenly, and Dean sighs.

“All right, all right,” he says placatingly. “Can I come in?”

Silence. “I suppose.”

Dean opens the door and steps inside. Sam is sitting on his bed with his laptop, so Dean sits down on the spinning chair at his desk.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“What?”

“All right, look,” Dean says quickly. “This house thing. I know it sucks, but Mom and Dad have done everything they can, and this is just how it’s gonna have to be. I went and looked at that house today, Sam, and it’s not gonna be so bad. I promise.”

Sam glares at him. “Mom said it was a fixer upper,” he retorts. “I know that’s just a nice way to say it’s a dump.”

Dean twists his mouth, trying to put it delicately. “It needs a fresh coat of paint,” he admits. “But look. Just... think about it, okay? I know this sucks, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam has already turned his attention back to his laptop, and Dean leaves the room, shutting the door carefully behind him.

They go to look at the house again, all four of them this time. John is barely present, more worried about the calls he keeps getting on his cell about things that Dean assumes must be work related. Sam is sullen, scuffing his toes against the floor and looking disconsolately at the wallpaper.

“You’re saying we’re gonna fix this up?” he asks Dean disbelievingly.

“Yeah,” Dean answers decisively, injecting more confidence into his tone than he really has. “We are. Can’t let Mom live in a place like this.”

“Hmph.” Sam is silent for a few seconds. “That’s a lot of work.”

“Yeah?” retorts Dean, becoming irate at his little brother’s attitude. “It’s not that big a deal, Sam. You’re just finding reasons to not like this house.”

“So? Shouldn’t I be?” Sam mutters. “It’s not our house, and I’m not interested in living here.”

“Oh yeah?” says Dean, raising his eyebrows. “So what’s your big master plan then, huh? Gonna move out, and live on your own, mister ‘I don’t have a job?’”

Sam flinches. “No,” he says. “I’m moving to California in the fall. See if I ever come back if this is where you’re living.”

“You don’t even know if you’ve gotten into Stanford!” Dean shouts at Sam’s retreating back, but he doesn’t respond. Typical.

John doesn’t have much of anything to say about the house at all, which is almost more frustrating. Mary can hardly get him off of his phone for long enough to take a look at the place and declare that it looks sturdy enough, let alone comment on the decor. Dean gets the distinct feeling that he couldn’t care less. He hadn’t realized how much his dad has been working these days, but it’s showing and Dean can sense the tension between his parents. His dad hasn’t been home much this week, despite his eldest son being home from school, and Dean supposes it must be worse when he’s not around as a small incentive.

Dean brings the paint chips again and talks to his mom about what color they might like to paint the house.

“I don’t suppose Rufus would let us choose the color,” she says wistfully. Dean shrugs.

“Why would he even care?” Dean reasons. “The place is a wreck. Anything we do to it is going to be an improvement.”

“True,” agrees Mary, “But we’re renters. He won’t want the walls painted, oh, say, neon yellow or something awful like that.”

“Well we aren’t going to paint the walls neon yellow,” says Dean, shrugging. Mary laughs.

“Okay, what color would you like to paint them then?”

They decide on a light yellow green. Dean likes the color he supposes the outside of the house must have been, and he reasons that it will lighten up those dark rooms a bit. Mary agrees. It’s also because Dean knows that green is her favorite color, but he doesn't say that. He thinks she sees through him, though.

After Mary has gone to bed, Dean stays up for quite a while. He makes lists; they help him think. Lists help him get his thoughts straight and figure out his game plan. And boy, does this house need a game plan.

So he makes a list of everything he’d want to change about the house. It doesn’t turn out to be quite as long as he thought it would, to his surprise. There are some obvious things – like that hideous wallpaper, and the carpet – and there are some things that are small fixes. Weekend fixes. Like the arbor in the front yard over the path that lead to the front porch – which, it so happened, Dean really liked – could do with being sanded and repainted. He’d need to hang some hardware for the front porch for his mom’s flower baskets. Dean can picture these changes in the house, and it’s actually fairly heartening. Making plans keeps away the fear of change that’s lurking.

To his surprise, Dean sees Cassie before the break is over. Her mom works at the bank, so there are no pretenses about whether or not she knows; she comes over with homemade cookies. It seems a little silly to Dean, seeing as his mom makes the best cookies in the world, but she’s been a friend of the family for a long time. Everyone is happy to see her, even Sam.

They end up taking a walk outside, just the two of them, to get away from his family for a bit. Some of the flowers in the yard are just starting to bloom, and it’s crisp and cool, but it makes for a pleasant walk. They don’t talk for a while; not until they come to Dean’s favorite climbing tree with the tire swing does Cassie take a seat and look up at Dean expectantly.

“I’ve missed you,” she says bluntly. Dean always liked that about Cassie; she was never one for dancing around things.

“I’ve missed you too,” he admits quietly, not meeting her eyes. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he tries to be truthful.

She laughs. “Is that really true, or are you just saying that because I said it first?”

Dean smiles wryly. “It’s true.”

They sit in silence for a little while longer. Dean’s not sure what to say to her; they don’t have much in common anymore, he realizes, and wonders if maybe it’s better that they did break up. He stops wondering that for a little while when Cassie leans over and takes his hand; it makes him realize how much he really did miss it. Not much later he is bent down and kissing her. It’s an odd angle and hurts his neck because she’s still seated on the tire swing, but the discomfort makes it feel more real, somehow, and Dean doesn’t mind a bit.

They stay outside for a while, but it starts to get cold and although she denies, it Dean can see that Cassie is shivering so they go inside and have hot chocolate with Mary and Sam. It’s surprisingly pleasant; they laugh and talk like old times, and it brings up a nostalgia that Dean doesn’t want to acknowledge. The time goes by quickly and before they know it, it’s getting late and Cassie stands and announces that it’s about time she got home. She thanks Mary for the hot chocolate and the company, hugs Sam affectionately, and collects her coat on her way to the front door.

Cassie leaves with a goodbye peck and a promise to see him again soon. It doesn’t make Dean as happy as he would have hoped, though; those are the kinds of promises that she never gets around to keeping. And kissing her after they’ve broken up just makes him feel sad and vaguely used, somehow, like a toy that she set aside and then picked up again for a few moments on a whim. Now he’s not sure what she wants – does she miss him and want to get back together, or miss him and just want to kiss for a while? He doesn’t like not knowing.

John signs the lease with Rufus that weekend. Dean is wrapping up his vacation week, having barely even seen Jo or Benny, but he’s itching to get back to school. The projects ahead are making him restless, but there’s nothing he can do about it for the moment but plan, so he directs his energy elsewhere. His textbooks are waiting for him at his mailbox in his dorm, Victor is already back and texting him about their alcohol stash, and he’s tired of the tension at home.

The lease they sign is for two years, and Mary shrugs and says fake-optimistically that they can live anywhere for just two years. Dean renews his resolve that his mother won’t have to live in a dump. He tucks his list of improvements to the farmhouse into his pocket and adds to it every so often as he thinks of something. It’s soothing. He’s encouraged by how much of this he can do; he can paint. He can strip wallpaper. He can make minor improvements. This is a doable project.

He kisses his mother goodbye, ruffles Sam’s hair affectionately and makes the long drive back to school with a lot on his mind.

Once he’s back at school, Dean remembers soon enough why he was looking forward to spring break. Organic chemistry is harder than he’d anticipated, and before he can blink he’s in over his head with reading to keep up with. He’s struggling more than he’d ever like to admit, so he doesn’t admit it.

Instead, he falls into a routine of getting through his day. Go to class, do homework, eat, shower, sleep. Rinse and repeat. For the most part, he tries to keep himself busy so he doesn’t think too hard about what’s going on at home, and for the most part, it works.

Over the next few weeks, he gets letters from all the universities he applied to. Acceptances, mostly. He knows Victor has seen them, on a neat pile on his desk, but hasn’t mentioned it yet, even though he already knows where he’s going. Next year, he needs to be at home. He signs the acceptance of the offer and mails it off. Victor watches him do it with a knowing look. When he gets back from the drop box, Dean flops down on his bed with a sigh.

“So,” opens Victor, lacing his fingers together. “Transferring then?”

Dean winces. He’d wanted to bring this up on his own, but if he were being honest with himself, he’d admit that he’d been putting it off.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back against the wall and resting his hands behind his head. “I think... I think I need to be at home next year.”

Victor shoots him a sympathetic look. “Everything okay? You’ve been a little... quiet since you got back from spring break. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Dean shrugs, and tries to answer the question with as little information as possible. “My parents are moving. My brother’s pretty mad about it.”

“Your parents sold their house?” Victor asks him disbelievingly. “No way.”

Dean’s silence speaks for itself and realization creeps across Victor’s face. He looks mortified.

“I... I’m sorry, man,” he says, finally, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

Dean shrugs again. “’S all good,” he says, but he’s pretty sure that Victor knows he’s lying. He’s grateful that Victor lets it go without comment. He doesn’t want to talk and that much is clear. To dispel the tension, he picks up a book at random and opens it, figuring that whatever it is, he should probably be studying. It turns out he’s right, and he spends the rest of the evening engrossed in a text for his English class that he has to write a paper on next week. It both takes his mind off of it and gets him ahead of the game for next week, and he can live with that.

 

 

Telling Charlie is harder.

Dean tries to figure out how to do it, how to say it. She isn’t as perceptive as Victor is, and Dean doesn’t bring it up. He knows she’s going to be upset, and ask him questions that he doesn’t want to answer, and that the whole thing will be generally unpleasant. So he avoids it, which is becoming a habit of his.. They hang out and talk about LARP-ing and Charlie’s next sewing project and what they have to do for their classes, and Dean doesn’t mention it.

What Dean doesn’t count on is that Charlie’s a little more perceptive than he gave her credit for. They’re out for ice cream on a particularly warm and sunny Friday afternoon, one of the first afternoons warm enough for it. Charlie has been unusually quiet since they met outside her dorm, but Dean doesn’t realize why until she brings it up.

“Hey, Dean,” she says, clearing her throat and looking up at him through her bangs. She’s so much shorter than he is – they make a peculiar pair. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“What?” Dean is taken aback by the question. “Yeah, of course.”

“Really.” She gives him a knowing look. “Because I’m pretty sure you aren’t.”

When Dean looks bewildered, she just sighs. “Look,” she says patiently. “I know you think you’re being really sneaky but it’s obvious to anyone who pays attention that something is wrong. You look exhausted, you never talk about your family anymore, and you’re really not that interested in stuff like LARP-ing anymore.” When Dean opens his mouth to apologize, she hurries to cut him off. “No, no,” she says. “It’s fine, that’s not what I mean. It’s just that I’m worried about you. I mean, you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. You don’t. I just... I’m worried.”

Dean just sits for a long moment, taking in what she said. He’s not entirely sure what he’s feeling – sad, touched, apathetic? – but what he is sure of is that he feels vulnerable. He hadn’t realized that Charlie would even notice those things, let alone comment.

“I –“ he starts. A few seconds go by before he continues. “I.... thanks, Charlie,” he mumbles. “Sorry I’ve been, you know, kinda lame. There’s just been some stuff going on at home...”

Charlie seems to sense his rising emotion level, because she stands abruptly and takes his hand to pull him up.

“I don’t think this is the place for this conversation,” she murmurs.

They go back to her dorm room. Dean wonders for a moment where the hell her roommate always is – he doesn’t think he’s seen her since the beginning of the school year, which is almost scary – but then Charlie sits him down on the bed, placing herself next to him.

“So,” she asks, “What’s going on? I mean, you don’t _have_ to tell me, but you can pretty much tell me anything, you know. Unless you’re like, a serial killer or something, ‘cause then I’d probably have to turn you in to the cops.”

“If I were a serial killer, I’d just kill you to keep you quiet,” he points out with a small smile, and Charlie huffs in mock annoyance.

“Okay, but really though,” she redirects the conversation. Dean sighs.

“I don’t think there’s any delicate way to say this stuff without flouncing around it like a lamb in a field of flowers, so I’m gonna just come out and say it.”

“Okay,” says Charlie, but she’s eyeing him a bit warily.

“My parents are losing their house. They told me over spring break. We’re moving into this old, gross farmhouse. I mean, it’s a nice house, it just needs kind of a lot of work. I’m transferring to a school closer to home so I can be there.”

“Wow.” Charlie takes all that in for a moment, blinking at him. “Okay. That was blunt. I’m... look, I’m really sorry to hear about your house.”

“We’ve lived there since I was born,” Dean finds himself saying. “My parents built it when they found out that they were going to have kids.”

Charlie doesn’t say anything, but scoots closer to him. It’s been a long time since he really touched anyone casually, and he’d forgotten how reassuring it is. They just sit for a minute.

“I understand your reasons for transferring,” Charlie says softly, breaking the silence. “I mean, I’ll miss you. A lot. But you’re right, I mean, at least I think you are. I mean, I think you have your priorities in the right place, you know? You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

“Yeah,” agrees Dean. “It sucks, but I think that’s what I’ve gotta do.” He pauses. “I’ll miss you too, you know.”

“I’ll come visit you,” says Charlie brightly, as though she’s determined to find something cheerful in this. “Over the summer. And maybe I can help you with the house! I can wield a paint brush!”

“Hopefully better than you can yield a sword,” Dean teases, and Charlie elbows him in the ribs.

They’re quiet for a while again before Charlie speaks up.

“Dean,” she asks, “How are you holding up? And don’t lie to me,” she adds quickly, when he opens his mouth. “I’m still worried about you. And I will stay that way. So be honest with me.”

Dean has to think for a moment about what his honest response is.

“I’m still a little...shocked,” he admits. “I’m trying not to think about it too much, I guess.”

Charlie hums sympathetically and wraps her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder. Dean leans into the embrace, accepting her support.

“If there’s anything I can do for you,” says Charlie, her voice muffled by his shirt, “You just let me know. I mean it. Anything.”

Dean knows that’s not a lightly made offer, and he thanks her quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I love you,” she says simply.

“I know,” he answers, and she laughs, tickled that he got her Star Wars reference.

 

 

Dean gets an email to his student account about spring quarter tuition being due, and reminds him – albeit a little painfully – that his grandfather is paying for him. He resolves mentally to pay him back, someday, and also decides that it’s about time he gave him a call. He hadn’t managed to see his grandpa while he was home over spring break, and now he’s feeling more than a little guilty about it. He and his grandpa have never been terribly close – mostly as a result of his estrangement from John – but he thinks he’d like to get to know the guy.

He waits until Victor has gone to class and dials his grandpa’s number, suddenly feeling nervous. It seems strange to be nervous about talking to your own grandfather, but Dean is wishing that he’d called mor

e, and worried that this will be weird and awkward. He needn’t have worried.

“Hello?” comes his grandpa’s voice through the earpiece, and Dean takes a deep breath.

“Hi, Grandpa,” he greets him slowly. “It’s Dean.”

“Oh, hello, Dean!” says Henry. “What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dean swallows and clears his throat. “Uh, nothing really, Grandpa,” he says. “I just wanted to call and, you know, say hi. How are you?”

Henry chuckles. “Oh, I’m not getting any younger, but you don’t need to hear about that. How are you, Dean?”

“Good,” Dean answers, knowing that the response is wildly inadequate. He doesn’t want to bring up what’s going on at home, so, in an effort to elaborate, he searches for something else. “School is good. Hard, I guess.”

“What are you taking this quarter?” Henry asks.

“Organic chemistry, calculus, and an English class, to take care of my last general ed requirement,” replies Dean. “It’s an upper division writing requirement... Good class, though."

“So you’re doing well, then? Enjoying it?” Henry presses.

“Yeah, Grandpa. It’s great here.”

“But your father tells me you’re transferring.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and Dean swallows nervously.

“Um, yeah, Grandpa. It’s... I mean. It’s expensive to go here,” he answers lamely.

“The expense isn’t an issue, Dean. I’m more than happy to help you cover whatever you need so that you can have a good education.” Henry doesn’t sound angry, just.... forceful, and maybe a bit curious. Dean doesn’t like the turn this conversation has taken.

“Um,” he fumbles for an answer. “I know, it’s just, I think I’d be happier a little closer to home, anyways.”

There is silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, then Henry sighs.

“Look,” he says, “Your parents told me about the house. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to transfer because of that. You don’t. If you’re happy where you are, stay there.”

“Thanks, Grandpa,” says Dean, “But don’t worry about it. I’ve already decided, and I think it’s gonna be for the best, anyways.”

Henry drops it without further comment, and Dean couldn’t be more thankful. He knows that his grandpa means well, but he doesn’t want to talk about it, especially with someone that he, frankly, doesn’t know that well. He feels bad just thinking that, because Grandpa Henry is, after all, family – and he’s a decent enough guy – but Dean sees him a few times a year at holidays, or they talk on the phone occasionally. He wouldn’t say that they have a particularly close relationship.

The talk turns to more casual things. Henry asks Dean if there are any girls in his life. Dean thinks briefly of Charlie – she’s his closest female friend, after all – before laughing and saying no, no there aren’t. He finds that he doesn’t mind; he used to feel like he needed a girlfriend, but his priorities have changed a bit. Cassie isn’t mentioned, mostly because Dean isn’t really sure where he stands with her and he doesn’t want to talk about that, either. She’s the most significant girlfriend he’s ever had – there was Lisa, when they were sophomores, but they don’t talk anymore. Cassie is strange and confusing and something he’s going to keep to himself, for now.

They chat a little more about Dean’s classes – how his organic chemistry professor is a hardass, and his English teacher is surprisingly hip to modern literature, foregoing the classics almost entirely – but the conversation winds down. Dean struggles to come up with questions to ask his grandfather, but finds there isn’t much – his grandpa is retired, his wife has passed away, and as far as Dean knows, he doesn’t have much of a social life. A few tentative questions later, he learns that his grandpa enjoys researching ancient mythology and lore, and that he considered studying it as a serious occupation, but then the war happened and everything changed.

“That’s a story for another day, though, I think,” Henry concludes, and Dean would swear that he was winking conspiratorially on the other end of the line. “I’ll let you get back to work. I’m sure you have a lot of studying to do, by the sounds of it. But come visit me the next time you’re home.”

“I’d love to,” says Dean, surprised at his own enthusiasm. “It sounds like you have some pretty cool stories to tell.”

Henry laughs. “I suppose you could say that. Take care of yourself, Dean.”

“You too, Grandpa,” says Dean. “Thanks. For all your help, I mean. I appreciate it.”

“I know you do,” Henry replies. “Don’t worry about it, kid. You’ve got enough to worry about. I’ve got this one.”

“Thanks,” says Dean again, feeling small. Thanking his grandpa is nowhere near enough, but it’s all he can offer at the moment.

“See you soon,” says Henry and hangs up the phone.

Dean tosses his phone onto the bed. He resolves to follow through with visiting his grandpa when he goes home next; it suddenly seems like a shame that he doesn’t know him better, and he thinks he’d like to.

 

 

School continues to be difficult, and Dean finds himself wishing for summer, despite what it will bring, just to get away from the grind. He’s starting to think that science classes aren’t for him, but there are only a few left for his major, anyways, and he’s hoping to tough it out. Organic chemistry is a drag, though; he’s reading his textbook and working the practice problems religiously, and still struggling. It’s disheartening, and it doesn’t help Dean’s blooming apathy. Charlie and her LARP-ing club help to keep him busy, but even with a job, he finds himself with too much free time.

That does mean that he can go home for the weekend more frequently, and he does. Henry is glad to see him in person, and they go out for lunch and get to know each other a little better. It turns out that his grandpa is a pretty cool guy. Turns out he was a pretty good bowler in his day, too, and he and Dean make plans to go bowling sometime.  
Sam is fighting with their parents when Dean gets home, and Mary is upset. He goes to his room quietly, waving to everyone in the kitchen before disappearing until the yelling has stopped. Sam has a mind of his own, and Dean loves him for it, but he can also be headstrong and stubborn. Dean knows it’s best to just stay out of their way. Sam is a big boy and he can fight his own battles, now.

When things have quieted down, Dean knocks on Sam’s door. He feels like they’ve been out of touch lately, and he doesn’t like it. It started when he moved away to school, he supposes, but they used to be so close.

“Go away, Dad,” comes Sam’s muffled voice through the door, and Dean laughs.

“I’m not Dad, sport, and I’m not here to yell at you or lecture you,” he replies. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Sam grumbles, and Dean opens the door and steps into the room. It’s mostly tidy, but the desk is a mess, just like usual. The familiarity is comforting, and Dean plops down onto Sam’s desk chair, just like he usually does. Sam glares at him without any real animosity, and Dean grins.

“So what’s up, little bro?” he asks.

“What do you mean, what’s up?” Sam is grumpy, and Dean can’t blame him, really. He’s always hated fighting with their parents. Dean shrugs.

“I dunno,” he says. “Just... what’s goin’ on with you? We don’t talk that much anymore.”

“No, we don’t.” Sam pauses. “I suppose you’d like to know what me and Dad were fighting about.”

Dean shrugs again. “Only if you wanna tell me. I didn’t come here to pry.”

Sam huffs. “I got into Stanford.”

“Sam, that’s great!” Dean is actually beaming, and resists the urge to stand up and ruffle his little brother’s hair. He knows Sam hates that. “Isn’t that school super hard to get into?”

“I guess you could say that.” Sam’s little smile tells Dean that it totally is, and he grins wider.

“Well, congratulations, little bro.”

They’re silent for a little while, Sam clearly preoccupied with something. Dean isn’t sure what to say, but he asks the question that’s been lingering in his mind.

“So,” he asks, “I don’t mean to pry, but... How does that relate to you fighting with Dad?”

Sam sighs. “I want to go,” he says.

“Well, of course,” agrees Dean. “And... Dad doesn’t want you to?”

Sam makes a face. “No, he doesn’t,” he confirms. “He says it’s too expensive, and too far away, and that I should go to school somewhere local.”

Dean scoffs. “He’s saying that when his son got into _Stanford_? He oughta be proud of you.”

“I know,” says Sam, smiling, and it’s the first genuine one Dean has seen out of him so far. “I told him that. I even did the math - I can pay for it myself, with some loans. Stanford is really expensive, but they also have great financial aid. I got some good scholarships. So the expenses aren’t even that big a deal.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, bro. So what’s the problem?”

“Dad doesn’t think I should take out loans,” says Sam. “But I’m pretty sure I’d have to do that anywhere I go, so it’s kind of pointless to use that as an argument... but he’s not listening to me.”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, Dad can be like that, can’t he?”

Sam hums in agreement.

“You know,” continues Dean hesitantly, “I think I kind of see where he’s coming from. Not that I agree with him,” he clarifies hurriedly, “but that it was a loan that’s got him in all this trouble with the house, you know? I don’t think he wants that to happen to you.”

“That’s totally irrational,” says Sam. “This is a student loan, not the kind of loan you take out on a house. And I’m old enough to decide for myself.”

“You are,” agrees Dean. “I just... try to see where he’s coming from.”

Sam scowls at him but doesn’t comment.

“But just so we’re clear,” says Dean, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “I think you should do what you want. I mean, I’ll miss you. A lot.” He frowns. “But you deserve the best, and it sounds like you’ve been offered it.” Dean is surprised by how hard it was to say that. He really would miss Sam, and the idea of him moving to California makes his stomach churn.

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam’s smile makes him feel better about the whole thing, and this time he does stand up and ruffle Sam’s hair.

“I dunno about you,” he says, “But that was a long ass drive, and I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow, little bro.”

“Good night, Dean,” replies Sam, already reaching for a textbook. Dean sighs and shakes his head, but he’s a little proud of his brother.

 

 

His time at home does not pass without a visit from Cassie. This time, she ditches the pretense of cookies and just shows up at the door. She’s lovely, of course – Dean recognizes the shirt she’s wearing as one of his favorites, and he’s hit with a sudden sense of nostalgia. He invites her in and they go upstairs to his room. It’s surreal to be in his old room now that he has his own place; most of his stuff is gone, and it doesn’t really feel like it’s his anymore. But Sam and his friend Andy are playing video games in the living room, and Dean reflexively seeks privacy.

It’s not long before they’re kissing again, and Dean suddenly wonders if they actually have anything to talk about or if this is the only thing they have in common. It’s a sobering thought, and he breaks off the kiss gently.

“What?” asks Cassie, a little breathless. She leans into kiss him again, but Dean leans back subtly and she stops, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “What, Dean?”

“I just...” Dean struggles to find the right words. “Where is this going? We broke up two months ago.”

Cassie shrugs, and Dean just stares at her for a few seconds.

“Oh, all right,” she says finally. “Look, I know you’re transferring – don’t look at me like that, your mom told me. Anyways, I know you’re transferring and I thought it’d be worth staying in touch. You know.”

“What are you trying to say?” asks Dean. “I just... what are you trying to say?”

Cassie shrugs again, and says in a carefully noncommittal tone of voice, “Look, we broke up because we couldn’t handle the distance thing. I just thought that if you’re moving back here, maybe we should consider giving it another try. I mean.... we’re good together.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “We were.”

He kisses her again because it feels like the right thing to do, but he has to fight his misgivings. They don’t do any more than kiss, and Cassie leaves not long after their talk. Dean is unsettled the rest of the night. He’s not sure what to think about what she said. Would she really ever date him again? Does he even want to date her again after the way she dumped him, as matter-of-factly as if she were deciding on a haircut? It scares him, but he also still has feelings for her.

He and Mary go to see the house again, and that serves to take his mind off of Cassie, for the most part. This time, he takes a pad of paper, a pen, and the paint chips. He and his mom discuss paint colors, holding them up to the walls, and fantasize about tearing the paper off the walls.

“I’m so glad Rufus is going to let us paint,” admits Mary. “I’m not sure I could live here otherwise. That wallpaper is so hideous, I think it would inhibit my ability to function.”

Dean laughs. “Me, too,” he agreed. “I hear removing wallpaper is a big pain in the ass, but I don’t think it matters how annoying it is. That has to go.”

“We once wallpapered your nursery,” says Mary reminiscently. “That was awful to remove. It had to go though. You were five, and we couldn’t have wallpaper with lambs on your walls anymore. You hated it. When a five year old hates their room design, you know it’s time to make some changes.”

Dean laughs. “I didn’t realize I was so.... opinionated as a five year old.”

“Well look at you now,” says Mary, smiling. “Helping me pick out paint colors. You could be an interior designer, you know.”

“Nah,” Dean replies, “Dad would like that too much. He’d make me design his houses.” He pauses. “Or maybe he wouldn’t. That’s an awful girly profession.”

Mary tries to rebuke him, but can’t hide her laughing. “Oh, you know your father means well,” she says. “But yeah, he’d think that was girly. Don’t worry, honey. I think interior design is totally manly.”

“Well, if firefighting falls through, I’ll keep it in mind,” says Dean jokingly. He adds another thing to his list – the hardware on the kitchen cabinets really needs to go. In fact, the cabinets themselves could really use a coat of paint. He eyes them, then adds that to his list, too.

“What’re you writing down?” Mary asks, trying to get eyes on his list.

“Have you ever painted cabinets?” Dean asks, and Mary groans.

“Are you serious?” she asks. “I’ve done that, and it’s a pain.”

“I’m serious,” says Dean. “Do you see those things? That’s about the most disgusting nothing color I’ve ever seen. I don’t even know what to call it. It looks like puke.”

Mary surveys the cabinets for a few seconds before sighing and agreeing with him.

“It’s ugly,” she says, and that’s the end of it. Dean thinks to himself that white might work, and jots that down.

He adds a few more things to his list during their visit. He’s made it a pastime to research home improvement on the internet, and it’s given him some great ideas, as well as some practical how-to’s. It’s all stuff that John would know how to do, but with the level of disinterest John has shown in the house, Dean hates to ask him. He’d rather figure it out for himself. The more he researches it, the better he feels about it. His mom is going to live in a pretty old farmhouse if he has anything to say about it.

 

 

The school year is passing in a blur of being busy – tests and papers and homework keep Dean fairly well occupied. He tries to make a point of hanging out with Charlie as much as possible, given that he’ll be moving soon. They don’t talk about that much, if at ever, but Charlie gets subtly closer to him and Dean knows he’ll miss her.

They’re out for lunch on a rainy afternoon. Charlie has been cagey all day, and Dean can’t quite put his finger on what’s up with her. She seems unusually nervous, fidgeting with her straw and chewing on her ice but only picking at her meal. Dean tries to respect her privacy, figuring that she’ll approach him about it if she wants to, but eventually his curiosity – and concern – gets the better of him.

“Okay, Charlie,” he says, breaking what had been a somewhat awkward silence, “What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean, what’s going on with me?” answers Charlie, eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs and mouth falling open slightly in surprise.

“Come on, Charlie,” says Dean, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together. “I know you. Something’s bothering you. Do you wanna tell me what it is?”

Charlie widens her eyes, which dart from side to side nervously. When she starts chewing on her lip, Dean speaks again.

“Charlie,” he says, “Remember how I can tell you anything?”

“Yeah,” she says hoarsely.

“You can tell me anything too.”

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath.

“There’s this new girl at LARP-ing club, and you haven’t met her because you weren’t there last week, but I really like her and we’re going on a date this weekend and it’s dumb because you’re awesome but I was just nervous about telling you because sometimes people surprise you, you know? Sometimes people are assholes.”

“Well, I can be an asshole,” admits Dean, “but not because of something like that. Tell me about her. Is she cute?” he grins and winks, and Charlie rolls her eyes.

“Yes,” she says, drawing out the last syllable. “She’s _gorgeous_. She reminds me of a fairy princess, you know? She’s just really pretty, and she wears these flowy skirts.... sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “but I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. You seem pretty... lovestruck.”

Charlie glares at him. “It is too early for use of the L word,” she declares.

“All right, all right.” Dean raises his hands in mock surrender. “I guess it is. So, do I get to meet her? You said she was with the LARP club, right?”

“Yeah,” confirms Charlie. “She should be at the next meeting. And so should you, speaking of the next meeting.”

“I’ll be there,” promises Dean. “Scout’s honor. So where are you guys going on your date?”

“I’m not sure yet,” says Charlie, blushing a little. It’s damn near the cutest thing Dean has ever seen. “We were talking about going to see a movie or something, but that seems awfully, you know... ordinary.”

“Hmm.” Dean considers some possibilities for a moment. “I think there’s a band performing on campus this weekend, so what if you took her to that? And out for drinks or something afterward, of course. Or dessert, if you don’t want to get tipsy with her just yet.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I want to get tipsy with her just yet.” They both know that Charlie is an embarrassing lightweight. Dean thinks she’s a hilarious drunk, but can see why she wouldn’t want to do that on a first date.

“Seems legit.” Dean realizes he hasn’t even asked the girl’s name, and promptly does so.

“Her name’s Gilda. Kind of a cool name, right? She’s an art major. And she sews, too, so we can work on costumes together.”

They stay for a little while longer – mostly so Charlie can finish her lunch – and then head to her dorm to work on some homework. They aren’t in any of the same classes, but it’s nice to have someone to work with. Before he leaves, Charlie brings up the next LARPing meeting and reminds him to come.

“It’s just not the same without you,” she murmurs, standing on tiptoe to drop a kiss on his cheek. Dean can’t help but be reminded that he’s leaving soon and it will have to be okay without him, but he doesn’t mention that out loud. He returns her hug and spends the walk back to his room thinking of how nice it is to have her as a friend.

 

 

A few days later, he’s sitting at his desk, staring at the test he’d gotten back in organic chemistry an hour earlier in disgust. His mistakes stick out like neon signs, and he wants to go three days back in time and kick himself for being so dumb. When Victor walks in and dumps his backpack next to his bed, Dean can’t help but rant.

“This is so frustrating,” he says, throwing up his hands. “I study my ass off and I get a D. Every goddamn time.”

Victor whistles sympathetically. He’s majoring in criminal justice, so he doesn’t have to take chemistry. “Sucks, man. I’ve heard that ochem is like that. Don’t know what to tell you, I guess.”

“I don’t know what to do about this. I’ve done everything.” Dean reaches up to rub his temples, willing away the headache he feels setting in.

“You know,” says Victor hesitantly, “I’ve heard that ochem is a make or break for people who are wanting to major in science. I hope that doesn’t happen to you, man.”

“Maybe I am in the wrong major,” says Dean disconsolately. “I dunno. I have to change my major anyways, since fire science isn’t offered in Kansas.” He sighs.

“Maybe you should consider picking something else,” suggests Victor. “I mean, something other than science. All I see is that you’re stressed out about it all the time.”

“Maybe,” agrees Dean, tapping his pencil on the desk. He has some things to think about now.

Things go smoothly, for the most part. Organic chemistry doesn’t get any easier, but Dean decides not to be too disheartened about it; he’s going to have to change his major anyways. He’s been thinking about what to major in, but can’t quite settle on anything. There are too many options, and none of them quite sound appealing.

It’s fairly late on a Saturday night and Dean is in studying – he hadn’t much felt like going out, even when Charlie invited him – and his phone rings. He checks the caller ID and sees that it’s his mom. It’s strange; his mom doesn’t usually call this late on a Saturday night, and he just talked to her yesterday. He gets the feeling that this can’t be good, and it’s only confirmed when he answers the phone.

“Hi Mom,” he says, forcing as much cheerfulness into his voice as he can without sounding fake. “What’s up?”

Mary takes in a shaky breath that Dean can hear from the other end of the phone, and says, “Oh, nothing. It’s silly Dean, I just....”

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Dean’s whole demeanor changes. He sits upright and holds the phone tightly. He’s several hundred miles away, too far to do anything, but he can’t help it.

“Nothing, Dean, I just....”

“Come on, Mom, something is wrong. Tell me.”

Mary sighs gustily. “Your dad has been drinking and we got in a fight. That’s all.”

“What did he say?” Dean is clenching his free fist angrily. John has always been an aggressive drunk, but it’s not very often that he turns that against people he loves. When he does, it’s always ugly.

“Nothing.... awful,” says Mary. “We were just, you know, fighting about the house and how we never should’ve taken out that loan and I said we had no way to know but you know how he is when he’s drunk, he doesn’t listen.... He called the farmhouse a dumpy piece of shit, you know? And it just got me thinking about how we’re going to move and that house isn’t going to be ours anymore. Someone else is going to live in that house. I don’t think I can stand it.”

“You’re gonna have to stand it, Mom,” says Dean, trying to be encouraging. “It’s gonna be okay. You know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna take that farmhouse and make it ours. I know it’s shitty and gross right now, but we’re going to fix it up and you’re going to love it. Okay?”

“Okay,” says Mary, sniffling. “This is all just so overwhelming and Sam is mad at me and your dad is mad at me and I don’t know what to do about any of it.”

“There’s nothing to do but keep going, Mom.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Mary mumbles. Dean can almost picture her wiping her eyes and putting back on her calm and collected face. The thought makes him a little sad.

“Where’s Dad?” Dean asks, suddenly feeling urgent about it. “Is he still home? Are you still home?”

“I’m at home,” Mary answers, voice less shaky. “He left. I think he went to Bobby’s. At least, I think he did. I know he didn’t drive... his keys are still here.”

“Good,” says Dean. “At least he’s out of your hair. Bobby can deal with a drunk.”

“He’s been drinking a lot,” says Mary worriedly. “I don’t know when it started, it’s just... all of a sudden he’s drinking vodka for dinner. Every night. I don’t know where he’s getting the money to buy it.”

“Probably nowhere good. Check your retirement fund,” remarks Dean grimly. He doesn’t really mean it, but he knows that his father can be reckless when he’s desperate and he was never desperate if not now.

“That’s not funny, Dean,” Mary reprimands him lightly. She’s trying to be humorous, but Dean can still sense the underlying stress in her tone.

“I know, Mom. Sorry,” he says, as sincerely as he can muster. “Any way you can cut off his supply somehow?”

“No,” says Mary thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. I don’t know where he’s getting the money.”

Dean sighs. None of them need to deal with a drunken John right now. He wishes he were going home sooner. Sam’s so busy – and bitter about the move – that he’s unlikely to be very helpful to his mom, and if Dad is drinking, she shouldn’t be alone. Dad doesn’t count as company when he’s drinking.

“Let me know if you figure anything out, I guess,” Dean says resignedly.

“I will, Dean,” says Mary. “Don’t worry about it too much, okay? I was just... upset.”

“I know, Mom,” he says. “Don’t worry about that. Take care of yourself.”

Mary laughs. “Isn’t it my job to say that to you? You might be an adult or whatever, but you’re still my kid.”

“Yeah,” agrees Dean, chuckling. “But still.”

“All right,” says Mary. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing...”

“Studying,” Dean supplies helpfully, knowing she’s not likely to believe it, even if it is the truth.

“Sure.” Mary laughs. “Whatever you say. Good night, Dean.”

“Good night, Mom. I love you.”

For the rest of the night, Dean has a hard time focusing on his textbook. He wishes he could be at home with his mom and his little brother, but finals are coming up. He settles for counting down the days on a calendar he has pinned to the wall of his dorm room for just that purpose. Part of him feels vaguely guilty about being so excited to leave the friends he’s made here, but he tries to keep in mind that it’s the best thing for him and his family and that’s the important thing. His friends understand.

 

 

As much as he’s been looking forward to leaving, saying goodbye to his friends is hard. Both Victor and Charlie come out to his car to see him off; they help carry the boxes of his belongings from his dorm room and load them carefully in the trunk. He’s suddenly glad that he didn’t bring much with him. Once the car is loaded, they form a small circle and stand there awkwardly for a few seconds, Dean with his hands shoved into his back pockets. This is the part he isn’t good at.

Fortunately for all of them, Victor clears his throat and steps up to Dean, clapping him on the shoulder and leaving his hand there for a beat or two longer than normal in the closest he’s ever come to a display of affection.

“Nice to live with you, bro,” he says. “I’ll miss you ‘round here. Gonna have to break in a new roommate for next year.”

Dean laughs. “Sorry about that. Maybe you’ll have better luck training your next one.”

Charlie is silent during this exchange but keeps looking between the two of them smiling. She doesn’t really know Victor; they’re only both here because of their friendship with Dean.

Victor hesitates for a moment, then pulls Dean in for a quick hug, thumping him on the back a couple times.

“Take care of yourself,” he says. “Do what you’ve gotta do. And don’t forget that you have my phone number.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” replies Dean snarkily, and Victor shoots him a scathing look. He then steps back.

“See you later,” he says, and he and Dean shake hands before he turns and walks away, looking back wistfully a couple of times. Dean watches him go for a second.

“He was a damn good roommate, you know,” he remarks to Charlie.

“Seems like you guys got along, at least,” comments Charlie. “More than I can say for me and my roommate.”

“Charlie, I haven’t even seen your roommate since fall quarter. Do you even still have one?”

“Somewhere,” quips Charlie, and they chuckle reminiscently.

Dean sighs wistfully. “Well, I guess this is it.”

“Yeah,” says Charlie sadly. “I’m gonna miss you, you know.”

“Yeah...” Dean isn’t sure what to say. “I’ll miss you too. But hey, I don’t live that far away, right?” He tries to be cheerful but it falls a little bit flat.

“You listen to what Victor said,” says Charlie sternly. “Take care of yourself. I mean it, buster.”

“Yes ma’am,” says Dean, mock saluting her. She makes a face at him, then launches herself into his arms for a not unexpected hug.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” she says into his chest, and Dean presses a kiss to the top of her head, too choked up to say anything. He’s experiencing mixed feelings about moving back home that he’d never expected; he wasn’t just going home, he was leaving.

“I love you,” says Dean seriously, pulling back from the hug to make eye contact with her. When Charlie smiles, it’s a little watery, but she responds with the customary “I know.”

When Dean climbs into his car and drives away, she stands on the sidewalk until he turns onto the road leading to the freeway, bidding him farewell with the Vulcan salute. Dean knows he’ll see Charlie again, and tries to focus his thoughts on going home.

With so much on his mind, the drive seems shorter than usual, and when Dean pulls into his parents’ driveway, he’s met with a surprise.

Someone – he assumes it’s his mom – has mustered all of his friends and family to form a welcome party in the driveway. Part of him wonders how long they’ve been sitting out here waiting for him to arrive – at least it isn’t raining. He hurriedly parks the car and climbs out, forgetting his luggage in the trunk for the moment.

He surveys the people who are there for a brief moment before his mom envelops him in a hug. Ellen and Jo are here, as are Rufus, Bobby, and Benny. Henry came, and John and Sam are standing next to him. All three generations, Dean thinks to himself, grinning at his mom.

“We’re glad to have you home, honey,” she says, smiling widely at him.

“I’m glad to be home.”

 

 

Dean doesn’t waste any time getting to work. The first thing he does is confirm his summer job arrangements; he’ll be working with Bobby at the auto shop during the day, and at the Roadhouse as a cook during the evenings, both part time. He figures that will keep him busy enough – and in the money to pay for whatever improvements Rufus won’t cover. He’s dead set on ripping out that lavender tile whether Rufus likes it or not, and if he has to pay out of his own pocket, so be it.

He moves back into his old room for the time being, although he knows he’ll need to figure out housing for the fall soon. If worst comes to worst, he can always live with his parents and commute, but he’d rather not, especially if he has jobs and can afford an apartment. He figures the gas for the driving wouldn’t be that much less expensive than an apartment, anyways. He spends some of his free time looking through ads for houses and roommates, and the rest on the house.

The first, and most obvious, step is to remove the wallpaper. The walls desperately need a new coat of paint, so Dean sets out for the hardware store on one of his days off in search of some wallpaper removal gel. He and Mary spent the previous evening trying to remove it dry, and hadn’t had much success. Dean was hoping that they wouldn’t need to rent a steamer.

He’s browsing the aisles of the hardware store, comparing the price of various brands of wallpaper remover – seriously, how much of a market could there be for this stuff? – when he almost bumps into someone who’s passing through the aisle.

“Oh, excuse me,” he says, but when he looks up, he recognizes them.

“Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.”

 

 

It’s been a long time since Dean has seen Cas – hell, he’s not even really sure how long – and his voice is a lot deeper than it used to be. Dean swallows his surprise and runs a hand through his hair awkwardly.

“Uh, hey,” he says, voice cracking. “How’s it going?”

Cas shrugs. “Not bad.” He eyes the wallpaper remover clutched in Dean’s hand. “How are you?”

“Um,” Dean tries to think of a more appropriate response than “shitty” and just settles on “okay.” He hopes Cas won’t say anything about the wallpaper remover, but that’s just not his luck. Cas has never been subtle, and apparently he hasn’t changed much, because he gestures at it and says, “How’s the house coming?”

Dean winces, and Cas tilts his head to the side. “Uh,” Dean mutters. “We’re just getting started. You know about that?”

Cas shrugs again; somehow, it reminds Dean of a gawky bird. “Everyone knows about that. Small town, Dean.”

“Great.” Dean doesn’t want to be having this conversation, and he certainly doesn’t want to know that his family’s misfortune is town gossip. He shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably, and a somewhat awkward silence descends upon them until Cas gestures at the wallpaper remover again.

“You need some help with that?” he asks mildly. “We did it not that long ago in my sister’s room. I know a few tricks.”

Dean stares at him for a moment, not really bothering to try and hide his surprise. He’s inches away from politely declining – which would be the easy thing to do, really – but he listens to the part of him that suddenly wants Cas to help and instead says “Yeah, sure. We’re starting tomorrow, I guess.” Fidgeting, he hooks his thumbs through his belt loops and swallows hard, second guessing this decision already.

In typical vague, Cas fashion, he just nods and says, “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” and leaves Dean standing in the aisle of the hardware store with his mouth hanging slightly open as he watches Cas go.

True to his word, Cas shows up at the farmhouse the next day, a bucket and some sponges in one hand and a tray of smoothies in the other. Even though it’s early in the day, it’s already starting to get hot and the smoothies and Cas are both a welcome addition. There isn’t much chatter; they get to work quickly. All of the bedrooms and several of the rooms downstairs need wallpaper removed, and it’s a lot of work. It turns out that Cas does know some pretty handy tricks; he pulls a scoring tool out of his pocket and explains to them that hot water will help loosen the glue, and then patiently works on the most stubborn corners. Mary is impressed and invites him to stay for dinner, so they sit on the lawn and eat chips and guacamole, which was all they’d packed to eat. Cas doesn’t mind though.

Removing the wallpaper takes a week – and a lot of swear words on top of that. Dean drags a hand over his eyes, trying to swipe away the exhaustion, as he surveys the room. They’re in the room with the big bay windows that his mom had quietly claimed as hers. The wallpaper had been a bitch to remove- they’d had to rent a steamer, and it had taken days regardless. It was worse – barely – than the room that had wallpaper on the ceiling, which had apparently been painted over at a later date. That had been a nightmare in itself. The stripped walls were about as ugly as they had been papered, but Dean liked them. They felt like a fresh start.

They’d been talking paint colors while they worked. It had been Cas who suggested pale green, commenting mildly that it would complement the dark brown woodwork. They would paint the ceilings above the upper trim cream. Dean had a list in the front pocket of his shirt for the next time he went to the hardware store – whatever people said about math, he wouldn’t question its usefulness again now that he’d worked out precisely how much paint they needed. He estimates that the painting will take another week, and tries not to think about how tired he already is. Working two jobs and spending every spare moment working in the house is taking a toll on him – he barely has time to think anymore, and the days are blurring together uncomfortably in his memory.

He’ll go to the hardware store in the morning and pick up the supplies on his way to the auto shop. Mercifully, he has the whole weekend off, and Cas is coming to help, too, so he’s hoping they can knock a good portion of the painting out before he has to go back to work on Monday morning. It’s too bad he’ll miss out on weekend night tips, but Ellen had sternly told him that he was working too much and not even Bobby argued with Ellen. This leaves Dean with considerably more free time than he’s had in the last week or two, and he’d be lying if he said it weren’t welcome.

Mary comes into the room. Dean doesn’t have to look to know that it’s her, and he turns to smile at her.

“Lookin’ good, huh, Mom?” he says affectionately. “Aren’t you glad you let me talk you into this?”

Mary laughs. “Yeah,” she admitts. “You were right. That wallpaper really had to go.”

“Can you imagine living with that?” Dean wrinkles his nose. “It’s better this way.”

“I would have made the room with the worst wallpaper your dad’s office, and it would have been fine,” Mary jokes. “But really, it was gross. Green will be much prettier.Cas sure has an eye for color.” There’s an appreciative tone to her voice, but Dean thinks she’s teasing him a little.

They lapse into a comfortable silence. Then Mary clears her throat and shifts from foot to foot.

“I have to start packing,” she says, tension creeping into her tone. “I don’t want to leave this all till... Until the last minute.”

‘I don’t want to be scrambling to get my stuff out at the deadline,’ is what Dean knows she was saying, but he just nods.

“I want to try and move in here by the end of the month,” she says. Dean considers it; that leaves about three weeks to finish the house.

“I’m pretty sure we can have the painting done by then,” he offers, and Mary smiles grimly.

“I know we can,” she says. “There’s a lot else to do besides painting though. Your grandmother is harassing me about not having even started packing up my house yet, and then there’s the moving itself.”

“We’ll get it done,” Dean reassures her. It’s empty and he feels like she probably knows that just as well as he does, but they’ve always figured things out before, and nothing’s to say that things will be different this time.

The next few weeks pass in a blur. Get up, go to work. Paint. Try to get some sleep, help Mary pack. Dean is so tired he doesn't quite remember what it feels like to not feel tired anymore, and his dependence on coffee is reaching frightening levels. He has a cup every morning before he even gets dressed, and another before he leaves the house. Mary purses her lips, but doesn't say anything.

Paint improves the house considerably. The pale green that Cas chose complements the dark woodwork; it brings a new light to the rooms, which now seem open and airy. The house will look nice with his mother's dark wood furniture in it, Dean thinks, and in a few days she'll be ready to start moving things.

"When do you have to be out of this house by?" Dean asks her one morning while he sips his coffee. She makes him breakfast in the morning if he makes time to stop by on his way to Bobby’s, and he isn't the least bit ashamed to admit that his mom packs his lunch sometimes, too. He'd missed her while he was at school, and having someone else cover his meals was definitely a bonus. He intends to enjoy it while it lasts, because once he's on his own the eating is not going to be nearly so good.

"Well," she says, "with the auction having been pushed back again, now it's being auctioned on August 20th, and at that point, we'll have twenty days to move out. I'd rather not leave it till the last minute though, which I know your father will - I'd just as soon move at the beginning of the month, since we're paying rent starting August first anyways."

"Makes sense," agrees Dean. "So we've got a month, tops. Okay, I think we can do that."

They get together a crew to help them move. Mary provides sandwiches and lemonade for Bobby, Ellen, and Jo. Charlie and Victor both text him and say that they wish they could come help, but Dean waves them off; it’s too far to drive for just one day of moving. Benny comes to help, too, and Cassie's dad. They have plenty of people, and the moving goes quickly. By the end of the day, Dean is feeling an extraordinary fondness for all of the people who came to help them.

They stand in the kitchen of the farmhouse, surrounded by boxes. Mary swipes a hand across her forehead. They're all tired, and sweating on such a hot day, but most of the furniture is moved as well as all of the boxes that Mary packed.

"Looks like I've got my work cut out for me," she says, scowling. Dean laughs. "Yeah, and you wouldn’t let anyone help you, either," he teases her. "If someone else put your stuff away, you'd never be able to find it again."

Mary shakes her head. "You'll have to help with some of it,"she says, and Dean groans in mock dread.

"Mo-om," he whines, and she shoves him playfully.

"Why don't you go get your bed made so you'll have somewhere to sleep tonight?" she suggests. "Your sheets and stuff are in the back seat of the car. Mine are too, if you wanna grab them."

"You're the best," Dean says as he heads out the door.

When he comes back downstairs, Mary is on the phone, talking in a heated voice.

"John," she says, "everyone else is going to start staying here starting tonight. I just thought you might want to, you know, join us. Since we're your family."

Silence for a moment as she listens to what John is saying on the other end of the phone. She scowls.

"I know you're attached to that house, John, but your people are _here_. You really think you can't leave your precious tools alone in your garage, but you can leave your wife alone in her bed?"

Dean backs out of the room before she can notice that he's there. This has been a point of contention all week - John wants to continue staying in the old house for as long as they can, and Dean and Mary both want to get moved and settled into the new house as soon as possible. Sam is sulking about the whole thing; he helped them move, but otherwise, Dean has hardly seen him all week. He thinks he's been spending a lot of time with Ruby, probably just to stay out of the house and away from the tension between their parents, and Dean can't really blame him.

Despite their argument, John does not come to the farmhouse to sleep. Mary doesn't say anything to Dean about it other than that his father was going to stay at the old house and keep it secure. She barely restrains herself from rolling her eyes as she says it.

John has made it clear all along that he’s not interested in the new house. He only thinks of it as a temporary fix, not somewhere he intends to stay for any length of time – even though they’re signing a three year lease. He doesn’t care if it looks nice, and he has pointedly not helped with any of the work that Dean, Cas, and Mary have been doing on the place. Which is just fine by Dean.

“He’s clinging to the old house,” comments Dean, watching his mother’s reaction. She sighs.

“Yes, he is,” she agrees. “I guess it’s in his nature. He built that house for his family and now he can’t keep it. He’s going to cling to it for as long as he can and then leave it a mess for the bank to clean up.”

Dean frowns but doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t want him to trash that house on his way out,” continues Mary. “He’s determined to salvage everything of value from it – he took the nice light fixtures in the dining room down the other day, did you notice that? He told me that he’s going to pull out all of the appliances, too, even though he’s not supposed to. I guess that’s one thing, but he’s stopped fixing anything. The pipes are leaking in the downstairs bathroom and he’s just letting them. He’s going to leave it a mess and he’s going to leave his garbage and whatever else he doesn’t want for someone else to clean up, and I _will not have it._ ”

Dean's silent for a minute. John has always been prone to being vengeful and righteous, but leaving garbage behind in the house is just distasteful. Dean wrinkles his nose.

"Yeah," he says finally, "That's not classy. What are you gonna do about it?"

Mary sighs. "He’ll never listen to me, you know that. He thinks I'm whiny. I'll get the money together and haul it all to the dump myself if I have to."

Dean nods. "I'm pretty sure we can pull that off," he agrees. "If we need a truck, Bobby has one he'll probably let me borrow. And Grandpa might lend you the money if you're in a pinch, although I hate to ask..."

"I hate to ask too," says Mary, "but if we leave that house trashed.... I mean, the chances are pretty good that the person who fixes up that house will be someone we know. Your father has lots of contacts in the construction industry, and the idea of leaving that house a wreck is just.... well, it's embarrassing."

Dean doesn't find himself particularly embarrassed by the idea, but he can certainly see his mother's point. "Well, we'll figure it out," he says. "We'll get the money and haul it ourselves and everything will be fine."

Over the next few weeks, they unpack the house. Dean spends an endless amount of time listening to his mother move things around and ask his opinion on which of her vases looks best on which shelf. He does his best to indulge her, but he's about as good at these things as he is at acrobatics.

Cas, on the other hand, is great at it, to Mary's delight.

"I like that picture there," he says decisively, pointing to the spot on the wall. "The shape of it is really nice for that size space."

"Yes, you're right, "agrees Mary, tilting her head to survey it. She beams at him. "So the one with the tulips should go over there."

"Yes," confirms Cas.

"You're a gift," she says, winking at Dean.

Later, Mary serves them dinner - of course, she unpacked the kitchen first, from which Dean was blessedly excused - and disappears to unpack some things in her bedroom. Dean and Cas take their food outside and sit under the apple trees, having been inside for most of the day.

They make small talk. For all that they know each other very well, they have a lot of catching up to do, and it's easy to find things to talk about.

"So, have you been seeing anyone?" Dean asks through a mouthful of taco. Cas simply shakes his head. "You?" he asks in return, and Dean finds that he's not sure how to answer the question. He hasn't had the time - or the energy - to talk to Cassie much, let alone spend much time with her, but when he does see her, their encounters are, well, spicy. When she sees him, she's happy to see him, but if he suggests meeting for lunch she often blows him off. It's confusing, and it doesn't really feel like a relationship, but it's certainly more than a friendship. On the other hand, she ignores him when it suits her.

"Uh," he mumbles, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Kinda. I mean, me and Cassie broke up a while ago...well, yeah, a while ago. But we still see each other every once in awhile. We kind of talked about getting back together when I came home from school, but we've both been, well... busy. As you can see." He gestures at the house.

Cas raises an eyebrow. "You talked about getting back together. Do you think that's actually going to happen?"

Dean blinks at him, bemused. "Uh," he stumbles. "I.... don't know. Maybe?" He thinks for a second. "Maybe not. I don't know."

"Hmm," is Cas's only remark, but the whole mention of it sets Dean's head spinning. If they were going to get back together, wouldn't they have done it by now? Why would she be waiting? The sudden thought of losing Cassie completely is overwhelming, and he feels like the whole thing is wildly out of his control. He has no idea what she's thinking. He hasn't tried to bring it up, and he's afraid to.

"Never mind that," he says, changing the subject. "You're going to KSU in the fall, right? What are you studying?"

"Astronomy," says Cas. "They have a great program. What are you studying?"

Dean hesitates. "I was going to study fire science," he admits, "but they don't have that here. and I had to transfer, for, well, you know...financial reasons. So I have to figure something else out."

Cas nods sympathetically. "Any ideas?" he asks, and Dean shrugs.

"Not really," he admits. "I've had a lot else on my mind."

To break the silence that is setting in, he asks hurriedly, "So, are you living on campus?"

Cas shakes his head. "I got a place off campus, but I still need a roommate."

Dean grins at him. "I was thinking I might need somewhere to live that's closer to campus. I think we can reach an arrangement."

Cas raises an eyebrow at him and smiles.

The next day, Dean goes in to the office with him and signs the lease paperwork. they go and check the place out; it’s a tiny little place in a big box apartment complex right near the campus, but Dean is somewhat relieved to have a space that he can call his own. And it will be worth it to live so close to campus; it’s too far to commute from the farmhouse. They bicker briefly over who will get which bedroom – “Dean, I found the place, I’m pretty sure I should get to pick which bedroom I want” – but Dean comes away from it feeling like something is finally going right.

That feeling is smashed to bits when he gets to the farmhouse after work and John is there, and drunk.

He's yelling at Mary, and that's about more than Dean can take.

"Hey! Dad!" he yells, letting the door slam shut behind him. "Dad! Stop! You're drunk, just back off!"

Later, Dean will realize that he doesn't even know what his parents were fighting about. Mary never tells him, but it doesn't matter.

"This is none of your business," shouts John, rounding on Dean and slurring his words. Dean's not sure what he's doing here or how he got here - he hadn’t thought they had any alcohol in the house, but clearly he'd gotten it somewhere.

"Sure it is," returns Dean. "You're yelling at my mom. Knock it off."

John laughs disjointedly. "And now I’m yelling at my son, too!"

Dean balls his hands into fists and takes a deep breath. "I get that this is hard for you, Dad, it's hard for all of us. That doesn't give you the right to be an asshole."

"What did you call me?" asks John, leaning in dangerously close.

"An asshole," Dean answers. "Although I wish I'd tacked on some better adjectives. Maybe slimy."

John roars at him and Dean steps backwards. He's never once been afraid before that his father would hit him, and the feeling was unnerving.

"John!" yells Mary. John looks from her to Dean, then back again.

"Get out of my house," he snarls to Dean, "you fucking little bitch. Get out."

"Your house," laughs Dean on his way out the door. "This isn't your house, Dad."

 

 

Dean doesn't even have a toothbrush, never mind a change of clothes, but he gets in his car and drives.

He considers calling someone - Cas, Benny, Jo, even Ellen - but his phone sits untouched in the front seat of the car. The battery is going dead, anyways.

For lack of a better place to go, he heads to the new apartment, where he sleeps on the floor and goes to work the next day in the clothes he was wearing the day before. Neither Bobby nor Ellen comment, which leads him to believe that Mary said something to them.

After work, he slips into the farmhouse and packs a bag, and leaves again before his mother can get home from wherever she is.

He ignores a couple of texts from Cas and heads back to the apartment. He just wants to be there by himself for a while.

A few hours later, there's a knock on the door and Dean opens it to find Cas, a duffel bag in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

"Care to tell me what's going on, Dean?" he asks. Dean grunts at him, but opens the door to let him in.

Turns out Cas was smart enough to bring shot glasses to go with the bottle, so he doesn't waste any time in pouring them both a shot. Dean takes two before he says anything.  
"Got in a fight with my dad," he says carefully.

Cas hums. "What about?"

Dean shrugs. "He was fighting with my mom about something, mostly. I got in the middle of it."

"And?"

Dean shrugs again. "He kicked me out of the house."

"Good thing you have a place to stay, isn't it?"

Dean finally makes eye contact with him and smiles in a way that isn't forced or ironic for the first time in a long time. "Yeah, I suppose it is," he agrees. He raises his glass and tips back another shot.

They don't talk much anymore after that, because Dean doesn't want to. Cas is a good companion to drink in silence with, although he eventually pulls out his laptop and sleeping bag and they watch Star Trek on the living room floor until they fall asleep.

Dean has to drag his ass to work hung over the next day, but he figures it was worth it. Cas promises to start moving in some things so the apartment will be habitable, and Dean agrees to do the same. When he gets back after work, he finds that Cas has moved quite a bit of stuff and is contentedly putting things away in the kitchen. He makes no mention of going home for the night that night, or any night after that.

They settle into an easy routine of living together and it’s nice, Dean thinks to not have the place to himself.

 

 

One day Cas texts him a picture of a kitten with the caption, “Can we keep it?”

Without even thinking about it, Dean texts him back, “yes.”

Turns out, Cas’s neighbors found the kitten at the end of his parents’ driveway. They didn’t want to keep it, and no one else in the neighborhood claimed it as theirs. Cas couldn’t resist, and offered to take him home on the spot.

The little guy was a tabby and the tiniest ball of fluff Dean has ever seen. He fits in the palm of Dean’s hands, and Dean holds him there while Cas pulls out his laptop and looks up how to age a kitten.

After awkwardly poking at his teeth and arguing about it for an hour, they figure he’s about eight weeks old after, but awfully underweight for his age, so they make a trip to the grocery store and stock up on wet food. The little kitty is purring happily and chowing down in no time.

“What’re we gonna name him?” murmurs Cas as they watch. There’s something fascinating about the little guy’s gusto for food. “Wait – we’re sure he’s a boy, right?”

“I think so,” says Dean, shrugging. “I’m pretty sure that’s a boy thing,” he continues, pointing. Cas laughs.

“Okay,” he says. “So back to the original problem – what are we gonna name him?”

“Kirk,” says Dean immediately, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“No.”

“I guess that means Spock is out, too.”

“Yes, Dean, it does.”

They settle on Scotty.

 

 

Dean hasn't forgotten about the conversation - if you could call it that - between he and Cas about Cassie. Cassie is someone who has been a part of his life for a long time and he loves her and admires a lot of things about her, but he’s confused. Really confused. In the few times they've seen each other over the summer thus far, she'd seemed happy to see him and his family, and happy to be with him, but when she’s gone, she’s completely absent.

So he texts her on his next Saturday off.

>> hey cassie

She responds within about five minutes, which is pretty good for her. Based on previous experience, Dean knows that means she probably isn't busy. Or at least too busy to text him. It’s a little sad that he has enough experience to draw that conclusion, he thinks, but he abandons that thought in favor of answering her.

>>hey dean, what's up?

>> just wondering if you wanted to hang out. it's my day off.

Her response is even faster this time.

>>sure

Dean fiddles with his phone, trying to decide where to go with this.

>>i got a new place in town, wanna come see it?

After a few minutes, his phone dings again.

>>sure. text me an address and i'll leave in about half an hour.

He texts her the address, and then paces around the apartment finding things to straighten out. He and Cas are pretty neat, for two college-aged guys, but he loads a few dishes into the dishwasher and straightens the pile of textbooks currently occupying the kitchen table. He's suddenly annoyed by how sparse it is in their living room - no decorations whatsoever - but there isn’t much he can do about it at this point. It’s something they just haven’t gotten around to, with all of the moving going on.

He opens the fridge and checks to make sure he has something to feed her for lunch - he does have stuff for sandwiches, or there's pizza in the freezer. Good.  
With that all taken care of, he's left to fidget until she actually arrives.

The doorbell rings and Dean jumps to his feet, wringing his hands together. He runs a hand through his hair and opens the door. Cassie looks radiant as ever in a frilly white skirt and an orange tank top, and she's smiling at him. He's never been gladder to see her, he thinks.

"Hey," she says, coming in for a hug. "How're you doing?"

"Good," he says into her hair. "It's been a hell of a week, though. How are you?"

"I'm great," she says. "I'm working on reviewing applications for new staff writers for the journal and we've already started putting together our back to school edition, so I've had plenty to keep me busy over the summer."

"Jesus," says Dean, laughing. "Back to school already?"

"It is August," Cassie points out, and Dean shrugs.

"Come in," he says. "I've got stuff for lunch."

 

 

Being with Cassie is easy. They chat about work and school plans and how Dean is liking his new apartment. They don't talk about moving. In fact, Cassie rather carefully doesn't mention anything about the farmhouse at all, and Dean finds himself annoyed about it. It's awkward, but she knew they were working on it, and couldn't she at least ask how things were going?

He puts it out of his mind when the timer goes off and he has to get the pizza out of the oven. He doesn't really want to talk about it anyways, so it's just as well.

He puts in a movie and they find themselves curled up on the couch together. It's so easy to fall back into touching her - she leans against him and he presses a kiss to the top of her head, and it feels like things are the way they used to be.

When the movie is over, she stands up and stretches.

"I'm meeting a girlfriend for dinner," she says, "So I probably ought to get going. But it was great to see you Dean, it really was."

"Yeah," he agrees. "It's good to see you too." There's an awkward silence for a beat, and Dean leans in to kiss her.

She turns her head at the last moment and he just stares at her, bewildered. It had seemed to him like this was a pretty romantic encounter, what with all of the snuggling.

"Dean -" she starts, but he cuts her off.

"Look," he says, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "Forgive me if I got the wrong idea, but I was pretty sure that was the kind of relationship we've been having."

"It's not," she says tightly, not meeting his eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"It isn't," she says simply. "Look, Dean, I like you, and I like hanging out with you, but -"

"But you don't want to get back together with me."

"I don't."

Dean takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "Okay," he says, "so we talked about getting back together when I moved home and you let me think you were considering it and you let me keep thinking that and you just let me keep thinking that and now you're saying no?"

"Dean -"

"I don't want to hear it, Cassie, I don't want excuses. If you don't want this, that's fine. It's fucking fine. You just should have said so, instead of coming over here and getting all cozy on my couch and then pulling something like _this_."

"I'm sorry," murmurs Cassie, not meeting his eyes.

"Yeah," agrees Dean. "Me too."

 

 

When Cas comes home, Dean is fast asleep on the couch with Scotty curled up on his chest, looking at Cas expectantly. Cas looks from the cat to the empty bottle of booze lying tipped over on the floor, and sighs. He scoops the kitten up, removes the bottle of booze, and carefully drapes a blanket over Dean before going to bed.

In the morning, when Dean finds the blanket, he doesn’t mention anything, and Cas is already gone. Dean is late to work, so he just calls Bobby and Ellen and tells them he’s sick and goes the hell back to sleep.

When Cas comes back from wherever he's been and finds Dean half asleep on the couch, he sits down on the end near Dean's feet. He just looks at him for a moment, squinting a little with his head tilted to the side in a way that makes him look like an inquisitive puppy. Dean's head hurts still, and he just wants to tell Cas to fuck off, so instead he rolls over. It wouldn't do to be mean to the dude who tucked him in after he drank himself into a stupor.

"Want to talk about it?" Cas asks delicately. Dean just grunts at him.

"I take it that's a no," says Cas wryly. Dean doesn't bother to answer him again, and Cas takes the hint and gets up. Dean hears him shuffling around the apartment for a little while before he drops back off to sleep.

When he wakes up, there is a kitten purring on his chest and a glass of water and a few tablets of ibuprofen on the end table next to him. He sits up slowly, cradling Scotty in one hand, and reaching for the glass of water with the other. He pops the pills and then silently drains the whole glass.  
It's getting dark, so Dean has pretty much slept the whole day away. Great.

He swings his legs over the side of the couch and stretches before standing up. Cas isn't in the living room, nor is he in the kitchen, but his bedroom door is open, so Dean pads up to it and sticks his head inside, leaning against the door frame.

"Hey." Cas looks up from the book he's reading and cocks an eyebrow at him quizzically. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," says Dean sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. Cas glances at Scotty, who is sitting on his shoulder, and back to Dean. "Thanks," he mumbles.

"For what?" Cas asks innocently, and Dean scowls at him.

"You know," he says, gesturing vaguely, "being a good friend and shit." Cas laughs.

"Wanna talk about it now?" he asks.

"No," says Dean, not meeting his eyes. Cas drops it, and instead asks him if he wants anything to eat.

"There are leftovers in the fridge," he informs Dean, before turning back to his book, which is something about space.

Cas, as Dean discovers, is a freakin' king among roommates. There's three quarters of a pan of lasagna in the fridge, plus a half a gallon of milk - two percent, even, which is what Dean likes, and what he had unfortunately run out of the day before. Cas has been to the store, and he has been cooking. Dean suddenly feels low. He's been a shitty friend, and he doesn't deserve this kind of attention.

He wanders back to Cas's room.

"Me and Cassie," he says awkwardly. "We're over."

Cas puts the book down. "I'm sorry to hear that," he says carefully, narrowing his eyes. Dean can tell he's not sure if this is the right response. Dean just shrugs.

"I thought she wanted to get back together. She didn't. Not too complicated, I guess. She just... let me think it for a while before telling me."

Cas frowns. "Well, I am sorry to hear that," he says. "The least she could do is tell you." He pauses for a beat. "So," he says. "What are we going to do about it?

"Do about it?"

" _Do_ about it."  
It turns out Cas is evil, and although they don't actually implement any plans to dye Cassie's hair strange colors or saran wrap her car, they do have a good time laughing about it, and Dean feels better by the time he goes to bed - quite a while later.

 

 

Just like she promised, Charlie drives down to spend the weekend with Dean and Cas. They show her around the farmhouse, and she is suitably impressed with all the work they did; afterwards, they take her to dinner at the Roadhouse. Dean’s treat, he insists.

“Wow, you guys are awesome,” she says after they’ve finished watching their second movie of the night. She’s draped all over Dean, hogging the bowl of popcorn, with Scotty curled up on her lap. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Scotty.”

“What can I say,” says Dean smugly. “It was inspired.” He reaches over to tickle Charlie’s ribs and she jerks away from him, flailing and screeching. Cas has to reach over from the other side and rescue the popcorn bowl, which is tilting precariously. Scotty waddles over to Cas’s lap, where it’s more stable, and curls up and falls asleep. Charlie snags a pillow and whacks Dean with it, and once they’ve stopped laughing, she gushes about Gilda until the boys have long since fallen asleep.

Charlie fits seamlessly into their world, and both Dean and Cas are sad to see her go. She hugs them both and promises to visit again soon.

“Maybe I’ll bring Gilda next time!” she teases. Dean rolls his eyes, but kisses the top of her head and thinks to himself that it wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’ll see you on Christmas break. Take care of yourself,” she shouts over her shoulder, throwing them the Vulcan salute, which Dean and Cas both diligently return.

They take Scotty in to the vet on Monday, where they are told that Scotty is actually a girl - "Dean, I thought you knew what you were talking about" "I did, too!" - but they decide to keep the name, anyways.

"It's stuck," decides Cas. "It's too late to change it now."

Scotty is a healthy little girl, although a bit underweight, but they've been taking care of that. She's treated for ear mites and given her shots, and they make an appointment to get her spayed. Everyone at the vet's office is charmed by her, and Dean and Cas leave the office feeling like proud parents.

“So, how are things with your dad?” Cas asks as they’re returning to their apartment, Dean fumbling with the keys while Cas holds Scotty’s carrier.

“Uh,” says Dean, distracted. “I haven’t really been back to the house since.”

“So you haven’t seen much of Sam or your mom either?”

“No,” says Dean, feeling guilty. They enter the apartment and carefully latch the door behind them before letting Scotty out of her carrier. They watch her romp for a few minutes in comfortable silence.

“I feel kinda bad about it,” says Dean. “I know Sam’s having a hard time with the moving thing, and my mom has to deal with my dad, enough said, but....”

He trails off into silence and Cas lets him. That’s one of his favorite things about Cas, he thinks. They can just be silent if they need to and it doesn’t have to be awkward. Cas doesn’t expect him to talk and he doesn’t mind if he doesn’t. It was one of the things he'd liked so much about Cassie.

He decides to call Sam up and see if they can hang out sometime soon. It’s not all that long before the kid is leaving for Stanford, and he does feel bad about not seeing much of him this summer. It’s just been busy, but that’s always the excuse, isn’t it? You have to make time for family anyways. He resolves to call Sam in the morning.

 

 

When he does call Sam, the call goes almost to voicemail before an irritated-sounding Sam picks it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean greets him cheerfully. “It’s Dean. How’re you doing?”

“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam responds. After a pause, he says, “I’m okay, Dean. How are you?”

Dean shrugs, and then remembers that Sam can’t see that gesture through the phone. “I’m fine, Sam. I’m fine. Hey, I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out today. It’s my day off. I know things have been busy and I haven’t seen you in a while and, well... you’re going to Stanford soon, and I’m gonna miss you.”

Dean’s words hang in the air for a moment before Sam responds.

“Sure,” he says. “Sure. I’m free today. What did you have in mind?”

“I guess I was thinking burgers. Ellen’s? It’s been ages since we went out.”

Dean can almost hear Sam’s raised eyebrows through the phone. “You want to go in to work on your day off?”

Dean laughs. “Well, I guess, when you put it that way,” he says, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah, I do. You game?”

“I’m game,” says Sam, chuckling a little.

“Pick you up at noon, Sammy,” Dean says affectionately. “You at the farmhouse?”

“Yeah,” mutters Sam. Dean doesn’t miss the darker tone of his voice when the farmhouse comes up, and he frowns.

“All right, then. I’ll see you soon.”

 

 

As promised, Dean swings into the farmhouse driveway at 11:58 sharp, whistling. He’s got Queen going on the radio and the windows down. It’s shaping up to be a good day.  
Sam emerges from the house before he can get out of the car and slides into the passenger seat. Dean grins at him. This is familiar; it’s good.

“Hey,” Dean greets him. “You ready for some great burgers?”

“Sure,” says Sam easily, smiling back.

They drive in a comfortable silence for a while. Dean hasn’t seen nearly enough of Sam in the last year, since he moved away to school himself, and he’s not sure what they have to talk about. Obviously the house is a touchy subject, and Dean decides to avoid it in the interest of making sure this stays a good day.

“So, Sam,” he says as they pull into the parking lot of the Roadhouse. It’s nearly empty this early in the day, but Dean knows Ellen has the kitchen up and running by now. “Tell me about this girl you’re seeing. Ruby, right?”

Sam stiffens a little. “Mom tell you about her?” he asks, and Dean shrugs.

“Yeah, she mentioned it, but she didn’t say much. You meet her at school?”

“Yeah,” says Sam, relaxing a little. “She was in some of my classes senior year, and student government. She’s nice. You’d probably get along, actually; you have the same snotty sense of humor.”

Dean laughs and holds the door for Sam, who ducks under his arm to enter the Roadhouse. “I am not snotty, Samuel,” he retorts, but Sam just rolls his eyes.

“Sam! Dean!” Ellen exclaims from where she is behind the bar. “It’s good to see you Sam, it’s been too long since you’ve been here.” She eyes Dean. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today, Dean.”

Dean laughs. “Don’t worry, Ellen,” he reassures her. “I’m not here to work. Just thought the little bro and I could use a burger. He’s going off to Stanford soon, you know.”

“I think we can do that. The usual?” When the boys both nod, Ellen retreats into the kitchen to make their food, and Sam and Dean settle into their favorite corner booth.

“So,” says Dean, leaning his elbows on the table. “You’re moving soon. Excited?”

“Thrilled,” admits Sam, eyes shining. “Stanford is _so cool_ , Dean, you have no idea. It’s huge and has everything I could ever want to study, and it’s just....” he sighs. “It’s gonna be great.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” admits Dean, “but that sounds like it’s worth it.”

“You might be the only one,” says Sam bitterly, “but that’s all right I guess. Bigger and better things.”

Dean frowns. “We’ll all miss you, Sam.”

Sam shrugs. “Mom and Dad are so busy with that stupid house and Dad’s been drinking every night, did you know? I’ll be just as glad to get out of there.”

“You’re always welcome to come stay at my place if you need to, Sam,” Dean reminds him. “I’ve got a perfectly good couch and a roommate who cooks.”

“That’s right, Cas,” says Sam. “I forgot, you’re living with him. How’s he doing? It’s been ages since I saw him.”

“He’s good, I think,” says Dean. “Kind of an enigma, but he’s a good friend, you know?”

“Yeah,” agrees Sam. Their food arrives and for a while they don’t do much but eat. Ellen’s burgers demand one’s full attention.

“So,” asks Dean through one of his final mouthfuls, “are you and Ruby gonna try a long distance relationship when you move?”

“I dunno,” admits Sam. “I think she wants to, but I’m not so sure. California is a long way away.”

Dean shrugs. “You’ll figure it out.” He downs the last of his soda and they leave the restaurant, Dean slipping a twenty under his plate even though Ellen always tries to tell him he doesn’t have to pay.

 

 

Dean is sitting on the couch in his apartment kicking back with a few episodes of Star Trek and a beer after a long day at work when he gets a call from his mother.

 

 

“Dean,” she says breathless, forgoing the usual greetings. Dean is instantly alarmed.

“Mom,” he answers, “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Mary takes a deep breath, and Dean can almost picture her pushing her hair behind her ears and steadying herself; he waits for her to answer him in her own time.

“Remember how the house didn’t sell at auction?” she asks. Of course Dean does; the first auction date for the house had come and gone a few weeks ago, and John had reported that no one bought it.

“Well, someone did,” Mary says. “Your father misread the paperwork – I don’t know how – but he got a call from the real estate lady today checking to make sure that he knows we’re supposed to be out by _tomorrow_ -“

Dean yelps, “Tomorrow? He hasn’t moved any of his tools out of the garage, has he?”

As a contractor, most of their garage was filled with tools and other equipment that John had used and accumulated over the years. It was a mess, and it they hadn’t tackled it yet chiefly because John had yet to figure out where to put it.

“No, of course not,” says Mary drily. “We’re loading the trailer and he’s just going to dump it at his office for now, but....well, we could use all hands on deck.”

Dean swears. “I’ll be there in twenty, Mom.”

He drives like a bat out of hell, and when he arrives, their driveway is already crawling with people. Mary wasn’t joking when she’d said all hands on deck; Bobby and Jo are there. Ellen must not have been able to get away from the Roadhouse for the evening. He spotted Mary and Sam carrying boxes. Even Henry has come to help, and is directing the loading of some rather large boxes into the big trailer John used for hauling his equipment.

Cas pulls into the driveway right behind him and gets out of the car.

“Hey,” he says, pushing the hair out of his eyes. “Am I late?”

Dean shrugs.

They get to work, no one really in the mood to chat. The amount of stuff that John has accumulated in twenty-some years of contractor work is absolutely _astounding_ , and it takes the whole group several hours and too many trailer loads to empty the garage of the stuff that John wants to take.

It’s well after midnight by the time they quit.

“Go home, Dean,” says Mary, “and get some sleep. I know you have to work tomorrow.”

Dean wipes the sweat from his forehead. This hasn’t really been how he was envisioning spending his evening, but there’s one more thing left to take care of.

“We haven’t gotten everything out,” he says.

“What do you mean?” asks Mary, frowning.

“There’s still shit left in the basement,” Dean tells her. “He just tossed all the shit he didn’t want into a pile to leave it there.”

“I know,” says Mary. She’s tense, her lips pursed into a tight line. “But it’s too late to do anything about that now, Dean. Everyone’s been here for too long already, and you all have to work tomorrow.”

“So you want to just leave it?” Dean asks incredulously, raising his eyebrows. He knows how important it is to his mom to move everything, and he’s not willing to give that up just yet.

“Yes,” says Mary, in a tone that brooks no arguments. Dean throws up his hands and walks away. He’s angry at his father for being so irresponsible – seriously, how does one get the move-out date wrong? – and for putting his mother in a situation where she had to make that decision. There was no compromise there, just John doing whatever the hell he wanted.

He wanders over to Cas and they stand on the lawn. Everyone else is leaving, headlights switching on and blinding them temporarily. Mary and John leave, too, and Dean can hear them arguing from across the driveway. He sighs.

“This is probably the last time I’ll ever be in this house,” he says to Cas, who doesn’t say anything.

“Did you know, after my dad kicked me out, I never even slept in it again?” He laughs humorlessly and kicks the grass.

Cas seems to understand that he doesn’t want sympathy and he doesn’t really even need to talk. So they just stand there for a few minutes. Dean looks up at the sky, and remembers all the nights he and Sam spent stargazing when they were little. John used to drag them out of bed whenever there was an eclipse, or a meteor shower, or when one of the planets was particularly visible, and take them outside and show them. It was a clear night, and Dean absentmindedly picked out a few constellations. He’d never been that good at finding them; Orion and the Big Dipper were the only ones he could find every time, when they were in season.

“Let’s go,” says Cas finally, taking Dean’s hand and leading him to his car. Dean follows Cas back to their apartment, where he falls into bed without even taking his jeans off, trying not to think about just how early he has to get up in the morning to be at work. But he finds himself unable to sleep, spending the night tossing and turning until Cas finally pokes his head into his room with a cup of tea in one hand and a few capsules of melatonin in the other.

 

 

Life goes on. Dean gets out of bed the next morning and goes to work. He does it again the next day. Before long, the trees start to turn the brilliant golds and reds that herald fall, and drop their leaves. With everything else going on, Dean had completely forgotten about school, but now he attends orientation and registers for class and orders his textbooks. His mom takes him out back to school shopping, in a flashback to when he was twelve. He insists on paying, but she helps him pick out some new clothes and they laugh over the assortment of school supplies they find in the grocery store. It makes him think of the same time last year, when they shopped for supplies for his first dorm room. He's going into his senior year now, and it would be his last year in school if he hadn't transferred. After an advising appointment, he knows that his credits didn't transfer properly and he's going to need at least an extra quarter or two, maybe more depending on what major he declares.

He hauls home the stuff he bought after dinner with Mary, and drops the bags on the kitchen table. Cas is pulling a pizza out of the oven.

"Smells good!" Dean yells into the kitchen as he heads to the washer and dryer, which need to be emptied so he can wash his new stuff.

"Your timing is impeccable as always," says Cas, sticking his head out of the kitchen. "How was shopping?"

Dean shrugs. "Hate shopping, dude, but hopefully I'm done with it for a while."

Cas nods.

"Pizza will be cool in a couple minutes," he says, disappearing into the kitchen again. He reemerges a few minutes later with the pizza in hand, already sliced, on a cutting board. Dean sighs contentedly.

"You're the best, I ever tell you that?"

"Only about once a week," says Cas, smiling. Dean laughs and goes in for a piece of pizza. Cas bought meat lover's - his favorite, as Cas well knows.

They eat in a companionable silence, and when the pizza is long since gone, Dean gets up and takes the cutting board back to the kitchen to wash it. When he comes back, Cas asks him,

"So, you had your orientation and advising meetings this week, right?"

"Yeah," says Dean, "for all the good it did. The advising appointment was almost a complete waste."

"Really? Are your credits not going to transfer properly?"

"No," says Dean, rolling his eyes. "Of course not. I took three quarters of physics there, but here they cover the same material in four quarters, blah, blah, blah. It's kind of a nightmare."

"So what did you end up registering for?"

"Morning classes," says Dean, "So I can keep working for Ellen during the school year. I'm taking, uh," he counts on his fingers, "Some more physics, an intro to engineering class, a literature class for one leftover requirement they say I haven't met, and a math class."

Cas whistles. "Sounds like quite the course load."

"Yeah, well, I've got some making up to do," grumbles Dean. "I'd rather not be a super senior, y'know? Just because tuition is so damn expensive."

"Yeah," agrees Cas.

"So, what are you taking?" Dean asks.

Cas shrugs. "More upper division requirements for the major," he says. "Some three-hundred level physics class, a class about the solar system, a lab. Nothing too earth-shattering."

"Astronomy lab," says Dean. "Sounds cool."

"I don't think the astronomy labs on campus are anything to write home about," elaborates Cas, "But I think we're supposed to take a field trip to some research facilities, and that should be pretty interesting."

"Sounds like it," says Dean.

School starts before they know it, and Dean is toting a backpack all over a new campus for the third time. It sucks to start over, he thinks, watching people thronging the walkways between classes. He found his classes the day before, but he's spent very little time on campus and hasn't really figured out where everything is yet.

"Well, have fun in class," says Cas, smirking, before he disappears into the crowd, headed for the physics building. Dean watches him go for a minute before sighing and turning to head off to his own class.

Dean finds himself distracted during class. He can't help but think that he wouldn't be here if not for the house, and he ends up tuning out his calculus lecture - which is completely review, on the first day - and brooding. He doodles a little house with smoke coming out of the chimney on the corner of his notes.

After school, he goes to Ellen's to tend the bar for the evening, but on the way there, he drives by the house. He knows no one has moved in, so he's surprised to see a van in the driveway. He slows down to get a good look at it, and swallows hard when he sees the "Lawrence Construction" logo on the side. He knows that it’s standard practice for banks to fix houses that they foreclosed on before trying to sell them, but he hadn't been expecting it to happen to _his_ house. Those guys would have their work cut out for them with the mess John had left. He realizes that he's lingering and quickly steps on the gas, trying to put it out of his mind as he drives to work.

He's distracted all evening, enough for Ellen to say something. He apologizes to her and beats it out of there the minute the clock strikes nine. On his way home, he drives by the house again. The van is gone, now, and he hesitates before pulling over to the side of the road and getting out of his truck. They may have changed the locks, but he still knows how to get into the house. He lived there for twenty years; he likes to think he knows it better than the bank does. He heads into the back yard and finds the under deck garden storage, which doesn't have a lock on it and conveniently leads into the basement. He slips inside and pulls the door shut behind him.

Dean switches on his flashlight and moves it around the room. For the most part, the house is the same as he remembers it; the walls have clearly had a fresh coat of new paint, though. When he puts the flashlight beam down to the floor, he wrinkles his nose; the carpets have been redone. They were gross, anyways, he supposes, after having lived through two little boys growing up and a multitude of animals. No one wants to move into a house with a disgusting carpet.

Moving through the basement, he pushes the door open and heads up the stairs. It's almost eerie to be in his own house after dark, but with all the furniture gone, and he resolves to keep this trip short. The carpet, as it turns out, has been redone throughout the house. In the kitchen, their old and worn cabinets have been swapped out for lifeless, but shiny and new, factory edition replacements. The same has been done in the bathroom. Dean pushes the door to his old room open - he sighs. The walls, which were once electric green, have been repainted a dull white. No one wants an electric green room, either, unless they're a twelve year old boy being allowed to choose the color of his own room for the first time. Dean shuts the door.

He spends a few more minutes wandering around the house, touching the spot where he'd once punched a hole in the bathroom door. The door had been replaced, erasing all trace of the incident. Places he'd drawn on the walls in crayon and his mom had never quite been able to get it out - gone. He has a tremendous sense of loss; everything that made the house theirs has been wiped away in the name of fixing it up for resale to people who weren't their family.

Throat tightening, Dean decides it's time to get out of there, and heads back to the basement. He goes back out through the crawlspace and carefully secures the storage door behind him. When he rounds the corner of the house to approach his truck, however, he sees a sheriff car parked next to it. The lights are off, and Dean contemplates running for a moment, but it's too late. A voice calls out -

"Dean?"

He's been seen and it's too late for him to get away now - besides, they know who he is. And he knows who this is, too, Dean realizes. Jody Mills steps out of the car, holding a hand up placatingly.

He sighs and shuffles over to Jody, not making eye contact.

They're silent for a moment before Jody sighs and puts her hands on her hips.

"Neighbors saw lights in the house," she says, "and called. You're lucky they sent me out."

"Yeah," Dean mutters. He just wants to go home. Seeing this place again the way it was - changed - was bad enough, but to be caught doing it completely ruined the privacy of the whole moment. He wants to know if she's going to arrest him, but he doesn't ask.

"Can you tell me what you're doing here, Dean?" Jody prods him gently. Dean doesn't know Jody well; she's a friend of Bobby's, and he's only met her a few times, but she seems nice, and in a town this small, it's hard to not know at least a little bit about everybody.

"Just wanted to see it," he says nonchalantly, shrugging. "Heard they were doing some work on it, and I wanted to see what was different."

"Bad enough to break in?" Dean can hear in her voice that Jody's got her eyebrows raised and is giving him a Mom Look - he remembers when she lost her son, a few years back, and suddenly feels defeated.

"Yeah," he answers sullenly. "I didn't touch anything, I swear. I just wanted to see it."

"I believe you," says Jody. "I do." She sighs. "I'll write this up as a false alarm," she says. "You don't need this on your record, kid. But next time, I can't do that."

"I understand," says Dean, finally tilting his head up to make eye contact with her. "Thanks, ma'am."

She nods at him and climbs back into the car, switching on the headlights and driving away. Dean leans against the Impala for a minute, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he climbs in the car and drives back to his apartment.

When he gets there, Cas is curled up on the couch, reading. He immediately puts the book down when Dean comes in though.

"Where have you been?" he asks curiously. "My Dean senses are tingling."

He looks pleased with himself for the reference, but Dean doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, he takes off his coat and tosses it over the dining room chair. "Don't worry about it," he says dully, disappearing into the kitchen. He needs a beer. It doesn't matter that it's late and he has to work tomorrow.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on a second," says Cas, darting into the kitchen behind him and holding an arm across the refrigerator door. Dean glares at him. "Really, I was joking the first time, but what's going on?"

"Nothing," snarls Dean, pushing Cas's arm out of the way and snagging a beer from the fridge.

"So it was bad," says Cas. "Okay. Fine. You don't have to talk to me about it, okay? I was just worried about you. You were supposed to be home an hour ago, and it's not like you -"

"You're not my keeper," retorts Dean. "I'll stay out after work if I damn well want to."

Cas blinks at him for a moment, then tightens his lips. "Okay, fine," he says. "If you wake up hung over tomorrow, I'm gonna leave you to your misery," he calls over his shoulder as he retreats into his bedroom, closing the door. Dean scowls at his beer. Cas makes a hell of a breakfast, but he's weathered hangovers without Cas before, and he can do it again. He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.

When Dean wakes up the next morning with an aching head and the vague desire to hurl - again - he regrets the rashness of his decision to piss Cas off. A cup of coffee and a plate of eggs would be more than welcome right now. Groaning, he rolls out of bed, holding a hand to his eyes, and shuffles around until he finds his slippers. Checking the time on his phone display, he sighs in relief when he sees that he has plenty of time to get to Ellen's, even hung over. He wanders out into the kitchen. Cas is already gone, and sure enough, there is no breakfast waiting for him.

Yawning, he pours himself a cup of day old coffee and rummages around until he finds the cereal stashed in the back of the cupboard - stale by now - and the milk. He has to eat three bowls to feel like he's had enough to eat, but he can't be damned to cook anything this morning, either, not with what feels like a little bird tapping away at the inside of his skull.

Feeling like half a human being again, Dean heads to work, hoping that Cas will be there when he gets home.

He's in luck. When he gets back to the apartment, he sees a trail of grocery bags leading to the kitchen that indicate Cas has gone shopping and returned, and he can hear the sounds of someone cooking - something is sizzling on the stove, and he can clearly hear Cas digging around in drawers, judging by the clanking sound he's hearing interspersed with curse words. He smiles to himself, hoping that Cas isn't still mad at him.

"Hey, Cas, I'm home!" he calls into the apartment, kicking off his shoes and depositing his coat in his room. Cas sticks his head out of the kitchen, frowning at him.

"Have you decided to pull the stick out of your ass?" he asks, and Dean groans.

"Yes, Cas, I've got the stick out of my ass," he says, rolling his eyes. After a beat, he adds, "I'm sorry."

Cas shrugs. "I'm glad you're done being an ass," he says. "I can't feed people who are assholes in good conscience."

"Whatcha makin'?" Dean asks, trying to disguise his interest. Cas sees right through him.

"Spaghetti, you moron, and the good kind with homemade sauce and salad. Now get your ass in here and help me."

 

 

It's not until later that evening that Dean tells him what's been going on.

"I went to the house last night," he says into the silent room. Cas is reading one of his astronomy textbooks, and Dean has been staring at his math textbook for the last half an hour, not really reading it. The homework had gotten complicated quickly, and Dean has too much on his mind to focus on math at the moment.

"You went to the house?" Cas asks him sharply, looking up from his book. "At ten o'clock at night? What the hell for?"

Dean scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "I heard they've been, ah, fixing it up. You know, so they can sell it. I just wanted to see what they'd done to the place."

Cas squints at him for a moment, and Dean knows he thinks he's an idiot. Cas sighs and shakes his head.

"And?" he asks, almost exasperated. "What did you see?"

Dean shrugs. "They've redone the carpets and painted the walls. And they put in all new cabinets, after all that water damage in the bathroom. And they replaced the door. You remember that door I punched, right?"

Cas rolls his eyes. "How could I forget?" he asks. "It was the most epic temper tantrum I have ever been witness to."

"Shut up," Dean says, laughing, and throws a pillow at him. "I was twelve."

"And everyone are morons when they're twelve. Yeah, yeah, I get it."

They drop off into a comfortable silence for a few more minutes before Dean clears his throat.

"I saw Jody Mills, too," he says casually, swallowing hard. Cas gives him another look.

"You ran into Jody Mills at your parents old' house late at night?" he asks, clearly skeptical. Dean shrugs again.

"I didn't exactly run into her, per se," Dean says, hedging. "She, uh, maybe was called and asked to go there."

Cas very nearly slaps his forehead with his palm. "Are you serious, Dean," he says flatly. "I know who Jody Mills is. She's the sheriff. Are you telling me you got _arrested_?"

"No, no," Dean reassures him quickly. "I mean, she knows Bobby, and she kinda knows me, and she just...warned me, you know? God, she didn't arrest me, that would be awful."

"Yeah, it would be," agrees Cas, "because we both know I'd be the one bailing your ass outta jail."

Dean nods in agreement.

"Next time you decide to do something that stupid and illegal to satisfy your curiosity," says Cas slowly, "you'd better invite me."

Dean laughs. "Then who'll bail us out?"

Cas shrugs. "Gabriel, maybe. Or maybe we'll just go to jail for being the self-righteous, insufferable bastards that we are."

"I am not insufferable," Dean objects, but he can't keep a straight face. He starts chuckling. It's not long before Cas is chuckling too, and neither of them can stop laughing for several minutes.

"I haven't laughed that hard in a long time," says Dean once he's caught his breath. It's strange, to feel so light. He's felt so heavy for so long that even laughing for a few minutes has put a feeling in his chest that he isn't used to. It isn't bad, though.

"Maybe you should get in trouble with the police more often," Cas suggests seriously. "I hear it's highly entertaining."

"Yeah, until you actually get in trouble with the cops," says Dean. "I think it's what you do that gets you in trouble that counts."

"True," agrees Cas. They start laughing again, and this time it's a lot longer before they stop. every time they look at each other, they start laughing again.

 

 

Dean avoids the house for a long time after that. It’s not until a few months later that he drives by it again, and this time, he slows down for an entirely different reason. There’s a sign at the end of the driveway that reads ‘for sale’ so casually, like it isn’t crushing.

Dean looks at the sign for a minute, then drives away.

He’s always regarded the sale of his parents’ house as a far-off thing. They have so many repairs to do, he reassures his mom, that it’ll be ages before it sells. It’s a fancy house, and in this economy, no one will be able to afford it. He even believed himself. As he drives, he thinks about how he’ll have to tell his mom, and if he doesn’t, someone else will first.

It’s his last chance to break into the place again, and see what it’s like before some other family makes it theirs, but Dean carefully puts that thought out of his mind. Once was enough.

Dean makes a habit of driving by the house about once a week, just to check. Just to make sure. For a few months, the house doesn’t sell. When he drives by the house again and the ‘for sale’ is replaced with a ‘sold’ sign, he goes home and gets blind drunk and cries into Cas’s shirt.

 

 

Sam moves to Stanford shortly thereafter, and doesn’t come home again until he’s out of school for winter break. By that time, Dean and Cas are out of school, too, so the first thing Dean does is take Sam out to the Roadhouse for a burger and a long talk.

“So,” he says through a mouthful of his regular burger. “How’s Stanford?”

Sam positively beams at him. “It’s _great_ ,” he says. “All of my classes are, well. Challenging. In the good way, you know? I’m learning a lot.”

“That’s good, Sammy.” Dean smiles. Sam had been so bored with high school. Dean had thought for a long time that that Sam would flourish in college, that it would be so much better than high school, and he was right. “And you’ve made friends and everything? You like Palo Alto?”

“Yeah.” Sam nods and gestures, covering his mouth politely. After chewing for a minute, he elaborates. “I’ve made some friends, and there’s this girl -”

“Wait, a girl?” Dean asks, confused. “I thought you and Ruby were doing the long distance thing.” He’d grimaced when Sam had told him that, but he knew better than to give his little brother unsolicited advice.

Sam shrugs. “It didn’t work out for either of us to only see each other every few months. But anyways, there’s this girl, and her name is Jess…”

“You asked her out yet?” Dean prods. Sam blushes, which is enough answer for Dean. He laughs loudly, and reaches across the table to clap Sam on the shoulder.

“First thing you do when you get back to that campus, Sammy, is you ask her out. I dare you.”

Sam scowls at him, but Dean can recognize the determined set of his jaw. “You don’t have to dare me,” he says mulishly. “I was gonna do it anyways.”

“Sure,” Dean teases, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Change of subject,” he announces. “Have you declared a major yet?”

Dean shoots him a dirty look. “Mechanical engineering.”

“Won’t that take you an extra year or two?” Sam frowns. “I thought engineering majors have to start like, really early.”

Dean shrugs. “They do,” he confirms, “but I’ve done a lot of the prereqs already, so hopefully it won’t take me more than one extra year.”

“Hmm.” Sam nods thoughtfully, then shrugs, too. “Might as well do something you like. Hey, are you and Dad on speaking terms yet, or are things gonna be awkward when he gets home from work tonight?”

Sam can see all the answer he needs in Dean’s expression.

“Hey,” says Dean, standing abruptly and pushing his chair in. “I’ve gotta go. I promised Cas I’d stop by the store on my way home.”

“How is Cas, anyways?” Sam asks. He makes eye contact with Dean for a few seconds before Dean breaks it, blushing.

“He’s good,” he mumbles.

“I’ll bet he is.” Sam tries to keep from laughing, but he doesn’t do a very good job; Dean glares at him defensively and shrugs his jacket on.

“Hey, Sammy. I”ll bring him by the house later, if you promise to play nice. I think Mom’s making pie.”

 

 

Sam can’t make it back to Kansas for Dean’s birthday, but they have a small party at his parents’ house, with just his parents and Cas. It’s a school night, and he has a math test the next day, so they make things brief. Mary serves burgers and brings out a cherry pie with a lit candle stuck through the center; Dean makes a show of groaning about the candle, but he doesn’t really mind.

After a moment of silence, Cas asks him, “What are you gonna wish for?”

Dean looks at Cas for a moment, but he can’t think of anything.

~

Anyways, my story isn’t over – far from it. I guess I thought writing all this down would make it easier somehow. It hasn’t, really; it kills me to think of other people in that house that my parents built, but at least they’re a family, with kids. Maybe they have a dog, and a garden. I hope they do, because that house was built for families, and it would be empty without kids running around drawing on the walls. I still feel out of place sometimes, but Cas helps. I mean, home isn’t about the building itself, right? When no one lived in the farmhouse, it was just four walls and a roof ,but now it’s a little more than that. I wouldn’t call it home yet, but it’s something.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is extremely personal to me; mostly because it's mine. Everything that happened to Dean's family in this story happened to my family; obviously, some details have been changed, for the sake of the narrative and for the sake of my family's privacy, but this is essentially autobiographical. I came home for a school break to find papers served on my parents' front door, and it was crushing. I've been struggling with a profound sense of displacement ever since, and I wrote this in part to try and work through the things that happened.  
> No one really talks about foreclosure, but it happens to good people, people who never missed a bill until they couldn't pay anymore, and people you know. It doesn't reflect my parents' financial habits, or the type of people we are. There was nothing we could do.  
> Part of me wishes that I had included more Dean/Cas in this story, but given that it is so much about Dean's emotional development, it didn't feel right to delve into their romance too much. Rest assured that they're happily playing footsie under a table at the Roadhouse right now.  
> Thank you so much for reading, and for any feedback you choose to share with me.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Choke](https://archiveofourown.org/works/998160) by [crimsonswirls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonswirls/pseuds/crimsonswirls)




End file.
